


Waiting Room

by spoffyumi



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Cancer, Christmas, Coming Out, Deaf Clint Barton, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Group Homes, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Minor Character Death, Minor Clint Barton/Kate Bishop - Freeform, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Minor Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 105,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoffyumi/pseuds/spoffyumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing James noticed when he entered the waiting room was that there were no magazines.  None.  Zero.  Spread out on the little tables that separated chairs into groups of two were pamphlets.  Probably shit like, "How Not to Kill Yourself" and "Are You a Psycho Who's Going to Shoot Up Your School?" and probably even "Is Your Kid Destined to Be a Total Loser?"</p><p>The second thing he noticed was the other person sitting there, staring at one of the pamphlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Waiting Room/ 等候室](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094002) by [redstone000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redstone000/pseuds/redstone000), [spoffyumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoffyumi/pseuds/spoffyumi)



"I fucking said I was gonna go.  Get off my back!"

With a slam, James Barnes stormed out of his house and picked up his bike from where he'd thrown it down yesterday.  He took a second to pull the hood of his black sweatshirt up over his head and then hopped up on the bike and pedaled away.

Balancing on a bike with his one arm wasn't that hard, and he'd had a couple of years to get used to it.  What he hadn't gotten used to was the way people stared at him.  The way they whispered.  He'd gotten into the habit of tucking his empty sleeve into his pocket just so they might not notice immediately.  At this point, though, he was "that one-armed kid" and no one was gonna ask him to try out for the baseball team.  Or any team. 

So what if he'd written some stupid story for English class in which all those assholes got what was coming to them?  Would they rather he went out and actually did those things?  Idiots.  Now he would be "that one-armed terrorist." 

Fuck everyone.

When he'd been called into the principal's office last week, his mom was already there.  Crying.  He hated that they'd told her and made her cry.  He could add the school's stupid administration staff to his already-long list.  "We're going to give you a break on this, Mr. Barnes," Principal Coulson had told him.  "We're aware of what you've been through the past couple of years--"

"Who isn't," James had growled. 

"--AND," Principal Coulson continued, "we are well aware of the cyberbullying that's been going on, and we have been doing our best to make sure those students are reprimanded for their actions.  That being said, this sort of thing would normally mean expulsion.  We are giving you a second chance here."

"I'm _so_ grateful."  His voice had dripped with sarcasm.  He couldn't even look at his mother.

"We will require you to meet with a therapist twice a week.  This therapist is required, by law, to inform the authorities if she feels you are a danger to yourself or others."

_Great_ , he thought, but didn't say.  Instead he clenched his jaw and waited for Coulson to finish talking.

"Despite everything, your grades are exemplary... An expulsion now, in your junior year, could destroy any chance of college.  I strongly suggest you take this second chance.  Do you understand?"

As his mother had driven him home, she threw teary questions at him.  "How could you do something like this, Bucky?  Why didn't you come and talk to me?  You know you can always talk to me, right?  After what happened... I understand, baby, I really do..."

James had shut his ears.  And he was planning to go the therapist, he was, but he had waited to leave the house.  Who wanted to get to therapist's office early, and be stuck waiting there forever, while people came and went and saw you sitting there and thought you were crazy on top of having one fucking arm?  And that's what was going to happen now.  His appointment wasn't until four, and here it was, three-thirty, and he was already here. 

He didn't even have his phone to distract him while he waited - "You've lost that privilege. No more Xbox, either."  His mom knew well enough that he needed his laptop for school and he could do almost everything on his laptop that he could do on his phone or Xbox, so it hadn't been much of a punishment until now.  Trudging up the stairs, he couldn't imagine what kind of magazines there would be.  If he was lucky, they'd have _Cosmo_ , which always had some guide on how to give the best blow jobs.  Obviously they weren't going to have skateboarding or gun magazines.  Not that he did much skateboarding these days, outside of his own driveway, trying to get his moves back.  Failing most of the time. 

The first thing James noticed when he entered the waiting room was that there were no magazines.  None.  Zero.  Spread out on the little tables that separated chairs into groups of two were pamphlets.  Probably shit like, "How Not to Kill Yourself" and "Are You a Psycho Who's Going to Shoot Up Your School?" and probably even "Is Your Kid Destined to Be a Total Loser?"

The second thing he noticed was the other person sitting there, staring at one of the pamphlets.

He almost turned right back around and left.  Instead he shuffled up to the desk and checked in with the receptionist.  "Hi, I have an appointment at four?" he muttered, hoping the blond guy wouldn't hear him.  The waiting room wasn't that big.

"With which doctor?" the receptionist asked.

He looked around, then noticed the two doors.  "Uh, sorry, I didn't realize there was more than one.  I don't remember her name.  This is my first time here."

"Are you James?" the woman asked. 

"Yes."  God, if the lady already knew that, then why did she ask him who his doctor was?

"Your appointment is with Dr. Hill.  You're a bit early.  Have a seat, and she'll come get you when she's ready."

He grunted and took a seat as far from the other guy as possible.  That was hard, because Mr. Sports Hero had picked a chair in the middle of the room.  God, entitled assholes like Steve Rogers made him sick. 

What was Steve even doing here?  That was the better question.  He guessed Steve was waiting for some younger brother or sister who was in the doctor's office right now.  Had to be.  You couldn't get more all-American than Steve Rogers, in his fucking Levi jeans and white t-shirt and letter jacket.  James had never even spoken to the guy but he knew all about him.  Captain of the football team.  Honor Roll.  Student Council.  In fact, Steve was probably in the running to be valedictorian too. As if he wasn't perfect enough.

Well, he couldn't sit here and stare for the next twenty minutes.  He picked up a pamphlet from the table at his elbow.  "Teen Talk About Exam Stress."  Ugh.  Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Steve glanced over at him.  He held the brochure up to cover his face, then drew up his knees so he could actually open the brochure.  The things no one ever thought would be hard until you had one arm: opening up a fucking brochure.

"Hey, you go to my school, right?" Steve asked.

Jesus Christ.  James glared at him over the top of the brochure.  "Yeah?" he said.

"I'm Steve," Steve said.

James rolled his eyes.  "We're in, like, three classes together."

"Oh."  Steve's shoulders slumped a bit, and he looked back down at his brochure.  James glanced at it, then peeked over at the other brochures on the table.  The color on the top was green, which meant Steve Rogers was reading "Teen Talk About Body Image."

_I am not going to feel bad_ , James thought, then said, "I'm surprised you don't know me.  I'm practically famous."  God, what had made him say that? 

"What for?" Steve asked.

"For this."  James lifted the empty sleeve and waggled it around.  From the look on Steve's face, he hadn't realized that James had been missing an arm.  And there was only one kid at George Washington High School missing an arm.

"Oh!  You're Bucky Barnes."

Goddamnit, that nickname.  Bad enough when his mom used it.  "My name," he said icily, "is James."

"Yeah.  Wow, I didn't recognize you with the black hair, I guess."

James rolled his eyes again and glared at his brochure.  "Not that hard if you ever actually looked at my fucking face," he muttered.

The rest of the time passed in awkward silence.  He could practically see the gears turning in Steve's head.  _Probably trying to figure out what else he could talk to me about_ , James thought. _Not like we run in the same social circles.  Or maybe he's trying to figure out why I'm being so rude._

He refused to believe he had been rude.  Steve hadn't even apologized about James's arm.  Most people did.  Or they asked how it happened.  But no.  Steve had looked at him like the missing arm was a giant fucking clue, and he'd solved the mystery and maybe even deserved a prize.  Never mind that he'd called him by the nickname that had turned into a fucking nightmare in middle school.  In high school he'd tried to re-brand himself as "James," but instead of helping his social status, it just turned him into a nobody.  And then the accident.  If people weren't actively making his life a living hell, they didn't even see him. 

"James?" 

The woman's voice cut into his thoughts and he stood up, tossing the unfolded brochure down on the table.  He gave Steve a little glare as he walked through the door.  _I_ dare _you to tell everyone at school you saw me here_.  That's what he hoped his look conveyed.  Steve just got a wounded look on his face and looked down at his hands. 

James had gone to therapy before, it wasn't like he had no idea what was going to happen.  Dr. Hill seemed like a nice lady, and she made it clear that he could say anything he wanted but that she did have to report anything she thought was a concern.  "Now, I've heard the school's side.  I'd like to hear your take on things."

He found it easier to talk to Dr. Hill than he had with his previous therapist.  Of course, Dr. Zola had made him talk about losing his dad and his sister and his arm, which he didn't want to do.  He told Dr. Hill all about the assholes at school and the shit they put on his Facebook page until he'd finally just deleted his account.  Then they'd found his Tumblr page and started leaving anonymous hate there until he'd blocked them and blocked anon mail, but he rarely went online anymore.

He didn't tell Dr. Hill about the website where he spent most of his time when he _did_ go online.

Since it was a first meeting, he had plenty to talk about, and he didn't have to get too deep.  For the most part she listened and asked him a few questions about his feelings when he paused or struggled with what to say.  Then the fifty minutes were over and he was free to go.

"I'll see you on Thursday, then?" Dr. Hill said as he opened the door. 

"Yeah, Thursday."  He made sure he sounded the exact opposite of excited.  Two sessions a week?  Was that really necessary?  He made his escape into the waiting room, and nearly stopped dead when he saw who was coming out of the other door.

Steve Rogers.

So Mr. Popular wasn't here waiting for a brother or sister.  He was here getting therapy himself.  James put his head down and fast-walked out of the waiting room before Steve could see that he saw him.  It felt good to have some dirt on the golden boy.

It was only after James started riding home that it hit him.  If someone like Steve wasn't happy, what hope did someone like James have?

***

When Steve got home, he pulled out his textbooks and opened his laptop and plugged in his headphones and tried to block out the sound of his mother's breathing machines in the other room.  He kept stopping to pull out one earbud and listen for that sound, the sound that meant she was still alive.

He also found himself going on Facebook, looking for Bucky Barnes.

_James Barnes_ , he corrected, after that particular search got him zero results. 

There seemed to be a million James Barnes in the U.S., but none of them were Bucky.  He had some vague memories of shit the other guys on the team had said in the locker room on the first day of school.  It had been hard to miss Bucky in the locker room before gym class, with that short sleeve shirt with no arm coming out of it.  A lot of the guys had stared, not in a mean way.  "The fuck are you looking at," Bucky had said to Bruce when the big guy had walked by, opening gawking.

Bruce Banner wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to fuck with.  Most of the time he was your average science nerd, if you ignored his size: kind of shy, super smart.  But his temper had a hair trigger.  "Just wondering if your right hand gets tired," Bruce had sneered, and the other guys thought that was hilarious.

"Let's go, ladies!" Coach Ward had called, and they'd all hustled to the gym, all except Bucky, who never came out of the locker room, wasn't there when they returned after class, and never showed up again.

"That was mean," Steve had said to Bruce as they walked out.

Bruce was still in a mood, and all he said was, "Fuck you."

He was captain of the football team, but mostly because he was the quarterback and good at remembering plays.  He wasn't really close to any of the guys on the team.  Thurgood Odinson, known as Thor to even the teachers, was his closest friend, but their friendship was more about playing video games and being wingmen at parties than anything else.  Steve hadn't even told Thor about his mom.  Hadn't told anyone at school.  Definitely hadn't told any of them about going to see a shrink. Most definitely hadn't breathed a word about being gay.

He finished his math homework and then into the kitchen and heated up one of the many casseroles in the fridge.  Back up in his room, he ate while he finished his chemistry homework, then brought his dirty plate back to the kitchen, washed it, and heated up some soup.  This he carefully carried to his mother's room. 

The cancer that was slowly killing her made it impossible for her to get out of bed, or even sit up without help.  It still shocked Steve to see the big hospital bed in place of the antique wooden one that had once been his grandmother's.  Now that bed was dismantled and sitting down in the basement.  Steve had hauled it down there himself. 

"Hi, Mom," he said softly, and her eyes fluttered open. 

She smiled.  Talking wasn't something she did much of anymore.

"I'm just going to sit you up a bit."  The bed whirred. 

There was a day nurse who came in while Steve was at school; the night nurse didn't come in until seven and was only there for a couple of hours.  The rest of the time, his mother's care fell on his shoulders.  He was lucky, he supposed as he spooned soup into his mother's mouth, that Sarah Rogers had been so active in the church.  This was football season, and there was a whole network of nice church ladies who didn't mind coming over and knitting for a while, or baking casseroles.  His mother had plenty of friends and coworkers too.  He didn't have to worry about cooking or cleaning or leaving his mother alone. 

He didn't want to think about what would happen to him after she was gone.

She fell asleep while he was feeding her.  He wiped her face and laid her down, then put the soup in a container for later.  When he shut off the light in the kitchen, it seemed like the whole house was dark.  He hadn't sat in the living room in months.  He'd canceled cable while his mother was still in the hospital.  Before she'd decided to come home to die.

English homework was next, the only homework he had where he didn't feel like a mindless robot, regurgitating information.  He'd figured out the best way to write a paper, laying down a thesis and supporting evidence, so that he could think as little as possible.

By the time he was finished – his English paper that was due in two weeks finished, several chapters ahead in his reading, he heard the night nurse come in, and that was when he got up, put his books away, brushed his teeth and washed his face, and went to bed. 

He was so tired, but in the end, he just lay there, unable to sleep, until one in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

On Thursday afternoon, James was once again nagged out of the house by his mother.  “ _God_ , Mom,” he said, stomping down the stairs.  “I don’t need to be a half hour early every time!”  Still, better to be out of the house than in it, the way his mother was acting.

School that day had been made fifty percent more tolerable by the appearance of Clint Barton.  Clint didn’t share any of James’s classes, of course – he was too much of a slacker - but it meant James had someone to sit with at lunch, and that was something.  As he pedaled his bike as slowly as his balance would allow, his brain replayed the conversation at lunch over and over.

“Heard you got suspended,” Clint said, pulling a half-eaten Subway sandwich out of a battered paper bag, along with a bag of chips and a can of Coke.  Somehow, Clint maintained a part-time job at Subway despite being high 95% of the time. 

“From who?”

“Those jerks who come to Subway after football practice.”

James had taken a savage bite of his own sandwich.  It was some kale and bean sprout and hummus concoction his mother had made for him. 

“The fuck you eatin’, dude?”

“Shut up.”

“Want some of mine?”

The sub had formerly been a foot-long.  Half-eaten, it was still pretty long.  “Yeah.”

Unceremoniously, Clint tore the sandwich in half and held out the uneaten end to James. 

Before Clint had come over, James had been sitting alone, pretending to read the novel assigned in English class.  _Catcher in the Rye_.  So far he liked it; it matched his mood.  But he had finished the book in the first week it had been assigned.  Now he was just using it for cover as he watched Steve Rogers. 

The guy looked so fucking friendly, smiling and laughing along with his friends.  Did any of them know Steve was in therapy?  He guessed not. 

He hadn’t realized he’d lapsed into watching again until Clint said, “Look at her.  Bet she’s glad she ditched us losers, huh?”

“Yeah,” James said without missing a beat, shifting his gaze to watch Natasha Romanoff hang all over Bruce Banner.  “Look at her with that asshole.”

At the start of freshman year, Natasha had been a new foreign exchange student who didn’t know anyone, and she’d befriended James largely because he was sitting by himself at lunch.  For a few weeks, she and James and Clint had been a tight little group at lunch.  It wasn’t long before the cheerleaders had gotten their hooks in her, then the accident, and now Natasha acted like James and Clint didn’t exist.  It didn’t normally bother James.  Clint, on the other hand, had never gotten over it. 

“I got this app on my phone to teach me Russian,” Clint said.  “How’s this: _Yallow blue vas_.”

“What does that mean?”

“I love you.”

“Aw, thanks.”

Clint coughed out a laugh, his eyes squinting.  “Ya bro, you know it.  You think that’ll impress her?”

“I know who it won’t impress.”

“He’s got nothin’ on me,” Clint said, waving Bruce off.

“He’s smarter than you, stronger than you, and... okay, you’ve got the sex appeal.  I can’t bring myself to say it even as a joke.”

“Yeah.  That’s right.”  Clint held up his fist and James performed the obligatory fist bump.  “So those guys,” Clint mumbled through a huge bite of his sub, “they said you wrote some plan to shoot up the school or something.  For English class.”

James rolled his eyes.

“That’s real dumb, man.  You can’t be doin’ that shit.”

“I didn’t,” James snapped. “The assignment was to write a eulogy.  What the fuck did they expect me to write?”

Clint shrugged.  “Probably not the deaths of your fellow classmates.”

“Yeah, it was stupid.  But I had to write something.  And it was my own fucking eulogy.”

“God.  Do you know how _not_ to shoot yourself in the foot?  And here I’m the one who gets the comments about _not working to my potential_.” Clint picked at the bandage above his eyebrow.

“Skateboarding?”

“Yeah, man.  There’s this sick rail in the parking lot behind work.  I got it like, seventy-five percent.”  After polishing off his sandwich, Clint popped open his chips.  “You been working on your tricks?”

“Kinda.”  James looked away.  Back toward Steve.  Sharon Carter, queen bee of the cheerleaders, had draped herself over his shoulders.  No small wonder she’d earned the nickname “Share.”

“You wanna come by after school?  My shift doesn’t start till three, we could grind for an hour.  I got some stuff, too.” 

As tempting as that was – the getting high part, James had no desire to show Clint exactly how little progress he’d made on his tricks.  The balance with one arm was so much harder.  And it hurt a lot more when he fell.  “Can’t.  They’re makin’ me go to therapy again.”

“That fuckin’ sucks, man.”  Clint made a fist.  “But for real, we gotta skate together soon, yeah?  You ain’t lyin’ about practicing, right?”

“No,” James said, his voice quiet.  He’d still barely touched his sandwich.

“Yo, when did you dye your hair black?”  Clint was squinting at him.

“Geez, you already have hearing aids, you need glasses now, too?”

Clint laughed.  “But come on.  Is this one a them cries for help?”

“I’m fine,” James said, his mood turning bitter. 

“Sure, sure.  Okay, I’m just gonna take a little nap now.”  With his backpack as a pillow, Clint put his head down and closed his eyes.  “Wake me up when lunch is over.”

That meant Clint had turned off his hearing aids and wouldn’t hear the bell.  James sighed and picked up his book again.  This was why Clint’s presence made school only fifty percent more tolerable.

Now, James chained his bike up outside of the office building and made his way upstairs. 

Goddamn it, why was Steve so early?  He’d had half a hope that last time had been Steve’s first session too, and he wouldn’t be early this time.  James threw himself into the same chair he’d sat in the other day.  Because Steve was once again sitting in the middle of the fucking waiting room. 

He waited a long moment, giving Steve the full weight of his glare, before asking, “So they got you for twice a week too, huh?”

Steve blinked.  “Uh, yeah.  Twice a week.”  He stared at his knees. 

James frowned.  “Funny.  Seems like everybody knows what _I_ did, but I haven’t heard anything about _you_.  Must be nice.” 

***

Steve didn’t respond to that.  How could he?  He didn’t want to tell Bucky how after that eulogy assignment, Miss Simmons had asked to talk to him after class, and thought he might want to speak to the guidance counselor, and how he’d broken down in the guidance office as soon as he was behind a closed door.  No one knew.  He didn’t want anyone at school to know.

His jeans were getting worn out on the right knee.  Not the left, just the right.  He tried to figure out what he did on his right knee that he didn’t do on his left while ignoring the way Bucky was looking at him.

Over the past two days, Steve had realized that Bucky was right: he was a jerk.  They did, in fact, share three classes.  Classes where Bucky sat off in a back corner, shrouded by his hoodie, a shadow striving to be invisible.  No wonder Steve hadn’t noticed him before.  Oddly enough, it made Steve a little jealous.  If only he didn’t have all these so-called friends to impress.  If only everyone wasn’t always watching him.  Expecting him to be perfect.  The perfect student, the perfect athlete, the perfect son.

He was so damn tired.

“Yeah, I’m glad you and your football buddies could have a nice laugh about me.  Like I said, must be nice.  Having _friends_.”

“I never laughed about you,” Steve said, the anger in his voice coming more from frustration than anything.  “And you have friends.  I saw you in the cafeteria with that... that kid.”

Almost immediately Steve wished he’d kept his mouth shut.  Bucky rose up like a shark smelling bait.

“Oh, you mean Clint?  I’m guessing you don’t remember his name.  Was there something else you were going to say about him?  Maybe you were gonna call him a stoner?  A slacker?  A loser?  Huh?”

“Forget it,” Steve muttered, looking away.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend.  Skips school half the time, stoned out of his mind the other half.  But yeah, I guess you got me.  I’m a fucking liar.  I _do_ have friends.”

Steve figured out what he’d been doing on his right knee.  After he’d fed his mother and she’d fallen asleep, he had to check the levels in her oxygen tanks so he could report to the night nurse if they were getting low.  And sometimes while he was down on one knee, it reminded him of how on the football field, they’d take to one knee and Coach would say a few words.  So he’d close his eyes, briefly, and send a few words up to whoever might be listening. 

Releasing the grip on his knee, he dropped his head into his hands.  Dug his fingers into his eyeballs. _I am not going to cry.  I am not going to cry._

It was like a conditioned response to therapy.  He needed to hold it in for five more minutes.  That was it.  Five minutes.  He could do this.

***

James sat there and watched Steve try not to cry.  Instinctively he had drawn his knee up to his chest, picked at the hole in his jeans.  _Why do I feel like such an asshole?_ he asked himself.  Steve had been laughing about him getting trouble, that was what Clint had said, wasn’t it?  Not Steve specifically.  Maybe that’s where he’d fucked up. 

“Steven? Come on in.”  James glanced surreptitiously at the owner of the deep male voice.  Kinda scary looking.  Tall, dark, shaved head, an eye patch.  James immediately dropped his gaze and avoided looking at Steve.  He certainly didn’t need to guilt himself over how close to tears the big guy was.  It wasn’t his fault.

It _wasn’t._


	3. Chapter 3

All weekend James felt like a shitheel.  On Saturday morning his mother had woken him up from his cocoon of blankets to ask him to mow the lawn.  “Do I have to do it right now?” he snapped, dragging his covers back up over his head.  She left, letting him sleep in, and when he finally dragged himself out of bed sometime near noon, she asked him again. 

“Why does it even have to get mowed,” he complained.  “It’s almost winter.  The leaves will cover it soon.”

“I can’t take care of this entire house by myself!”  Her voice wobbled and James knew where this was going, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“That lawn mower sucks.  It’s too hard to push with one arm.”

“It wouldn’t be so hard to push if you’d wear that prosthetic I paid thousands of dollars for,” she said.  “I’m going to trim the hedges, can’t you do this one thing for me?”

He didn’t respond to that.  He was suddenly not hungry, so he shoved the box of cereal back into the cupboard and stomped off to the garage.

First thing, he had to fill the gas tank, which involved balancing the gas can on his knee while he used his one arm to pour.  Then there was starting the damn thing.  After seven pulls on the ripcord, the engine sputtered to life, and now he had to wrangle the machine out onto the lawn.  The wheels were rusty and prone to stalling over any bump in the earth.  James had to use his chest to push the thing until, sweaty and exhausted after the first row, he left the mower running and slammed back inside to haul out the damn prosthetic.

The arm strapped around his chest and under the armpit of his right arm, and it had to be tight to get the top to fit into the joint of his shoulder.  All metal and wires, it wasn’t a cosmetic arm at all, and wearing it made him feel even more like a freak.  In his physical therapy sessions he was still learning how to use the muscles of his shoulder to get the claw at the end of the arm to open and close.  He didn’t need it to do anything like that right now. 

Basically, he was just going to use it to push. 

Despite being covered in sweat, James pulled a long-sleeved flannel shirt on before heading back outside. 

He had to lean his left side in to get the right pressure, and yes, that did make mowing easier, a fact which made him grit his teeth and swear under his breath.  But it also hurt more.  He wore the prosthetic so rarely that the sensitive scar tissue on his shoulder protested the friction. 

The lawn was enormous.  And all front lawn, too.  The back was filled with his mother’s flowers.  Good, because it wasn’t anything he had to mow.  Bad because the whole time he was mowing, he was on display to anyone who drove by.  Or walked by.  He was on display when two kids, riding their bikes slowly in front of their power-walking mother, stopped and pointed and gawked.  The mother ushered them along. 

He was on display when he had stopped pushing the mower at the end of a row, lifting the prosthetic arm to try to reset it in his shoulder joint, when a familiar car rolled down the road. 

Everyone knew Bruce Banner’s car.  His father had bought him the cherry red convertible for his sweet sixteen, and it had become the unofficial mascot of the football team.  The backseat always overflowed with burly guys in letter jackets, while Bruce and Natasha took the front seats, hair blowing in the breeze. 

James, unfortunately, was right up at the sidewalk, and Bruce had probably seen him from halfway down the street.  He didn’t have time to pretend he hadn’t seen the convertible coming.  He’d been looking right at it, too tired to focus on anything until they were _right there_.

“Hey, it’s Edward Scissorhands,” called out one of the guys in the backseat as Bruce rolled by at the street’s posted speed limit of twenty miles per hour.

The insult didn’t make much sense, and James didn’t have time to tear his gaze away from Natasha to see who’d thrown it out.  He felt his face heat up anyway, as he dropped his arm and his head and hurried back inside, the laughter from the car echoing in his head. 

“Are you finished with the lawn already?” his mother had called out over the sound of the vacuum from the living room. 

“Mow it yourself!” he growled. 

Up in his room he couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough.  The fabric kept getting caught on the claw hand and he wrestled with it until he heard the seams rip and he was free.  Free to rip the straps off his chest and hurl the prosthetic to the floor with a primal scream.

“Bucky, you cannot leave the lawn mower running in the middle of the yard!” Mrs. Barnes said before she rounded the door to see into his room.  “Oh, honey.”

“Get out!” he yelled at her, and slammed the door in her stunned face.  He turned the flimsy lock so she couldn’t just barge right back in.  Then he turned on his radio – luckily his iPhone docking station had an old-school radio, and once he’d found a hard rock station, he spun the volume dial as loud as it could go... which wasn’t very loud.  After about five minutes, during which his mother had probably gone out to turn off the mower and put it away, he heard her back at his door.

“Bucky!  Turn your music down now!  Or I’m unlocking this door!”

“Fine!” he yelled back, and plugged in his earbuds. 

So after that, James had waited until his mother had gone grocery shopping before getting on his bike and riding over to Clint’s house.  There he’d found Clint getting reamed out by his stepfather.  Clint blinked sleepily at the guy, then waved at James and dragged him out back to the dilapidated camper that Clint used as his own private hangout.  Extension cords ran from the house out to the trailer, and inside Clint had an old TV hooked up to his Xbox, plenty of snacks, and a supply of weed stashed in the narrow linen closet.  “Your stepdad’s an asshole,” James commented while Clint assembled the necessary tools. 

Clint shrugged, flicked the lighter, and finally James felt like he could breathe again. 

Naturally, his mother was none too pleased when he came home after midnight reeking of pot, but he was too stoned to care.  She got back at him on Sunday, yanking off his covers.  “What the hell, Mom,” he groaned.

“We’re going to church.  Get dressed.”

He groaned again, pushing his face into his pillow.  He felt clothes being tossed on top of him.

“Something needs to change around here.  You aren’t the only person affected by this, you know.”

“I know, Mom,” James muttered.

The mattress dipped beside him as she sat down on the bed.  Her hand stroked the back of his head.  He hated how much he liked that small measure of affection.  "I know things are hard for you, but I think it's time for you to stop wallowing and realize how lucky you are."

_It’s only an hour_ , he kept telling himself, sitting in the hard wooden pew and trying to keep his head down.  He hoped he wouldn’t see anyone from school, especially not wearing khakis and a black cowl-neck sweater his mother had bought for him three years ago, before the accident.  He’d stuffed a t-shirt into the sleeve to make it look fuller before tucking the cuff into the pocket. 

As they waited for mass to begin, his mother opened the church newsletter to read, leaving James to do nothing but look around.  Oh, god.  There was Sharon Carter.  He shook his head so his hair fell into his face.  Hopefully, with his black hair and preppy clothes, she wouldn’t notice him.

“Here’s something we could do,” his mother said beside him.  “We can make freezer meals for this woman dying of cancer and her son.  Maybe doing a little charity work will help you feel a little better about your own situation, hmm?”

James glanced at the newsletter with narrowed eyes, then saw a familiar name jump out from the page.

_I am a total shitheel._

***

When his cell phone rang, Steve looked up in confusion.  The landline rang a lot, especially at this time.  Right after church.  “Would it be alright if I dropped a meal off for you and your mother, hon?”

He put the toilet brush back in its holder and stripped off his rubber gloves before hurrying to the kitchen, where his phone was charging on the counter.  “Hello?” he said, catching a glimpse of the caller ID.  Sharon Carter.

“Hi Steve.”  There was a silence, and Steve didn’t rush to fill it.  Normally when Sharon called, she wanted to study with him.  That’s what he expected.  What she finally said was, “I know about your mom.”

His stomach dropped.  “O...oh,” he said, trying a little too late to sound casual. 

“Yeah, I read about her in the church bulletin.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve sighed and rubbed his face.  “Sorry,” he said finally.

“No, you don’t need to be sorry,” she said.  “I just... I thought we were friends.  I mean, I guess I can understand why you wouldn’t tell me.  Sometimes I forget you’re my ex-boyfriend.”  She laughed quietly.  “Um, sorry.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t call to make you feel guilty or whatever.  It was just kind of a shock, finding out like that.  You know you can talk to me, right?  If you don’t want everyone to know, I completely understand.  I won’t tell.  But I just wanted to let you know I’m here for you.”

“Yeah... thanks,” Steve muttered, hand still covering his face. 

“Do you want to get together on Tuesday to study for the math test?  My mom said she’d make chicken alfredo for dinner.  If you wanted to stay for dinner.”

“I, uh, I’m busy on Tuesday afternoon.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sharon said quickly.  “Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Steve hit the “end call” button and set his phone back on the counter.  Returned to the bathroom, and stared at the cleaning supplies.  He wouldn't even need to clean the bathroom if he hadn't gone out drinking last night.  He hadn't planned to drink a lot; he never did.  In fact, he was about to pull a bottled water from the fridge at Tony's house when a thickly accented voice behind him said, "Steve!  The nice boy.  I will ask you a question."

He'd changed tack and grabbed another Bud Light, twisted off the cap before turning around.  "Yeah?"

Natasha sipped from a red solo cup that was likely straight vodka.  "Who is Edward Scissor Hand?" she asked.

That was certainly not what kind of question Steve had expected.  Last year she had asked at the lunch table, "What is blow job?" which everyone found hilarious.  Her face had remained detached and unperterbed, and after someone had finally managed to choke out an explanation, she had simply said, "Ah yes, we have this word in Russian also.  _Minyet_."  When some of the boys were still laughing at her, she continued, "It is not so strange that these words confuse.  Is not more of sucking than blowing?  American fools."

"Uh.  It's a movie?  About a guy with scissor for hands?"  Steve held up one hand and made a scissoring motion with his fingers.

"It is what I thought."  Natasha pouted out her full red lips.  "Bruce tells me this is not insult to Yasha but I see he lies to me."

"Who's Yasha?" Steve asked.

"Yasha," Natasha repeated, like Steve was stupid.  Then it dawned on her, and she shook her head.  "James.  The boy with one arm."

The beer turned sour in Steve's stomach.  "Oh.  Bruce called him that?  To his face?"

"No.  Other boy say the name.  But Bruce laugh.  Yasha was upset.  I do not like this.  I must go to call him a liar."

Steve thought about stopping Natasha from confronting Bruce.  He knew Bruce's temper.  But he also knew Natasha didn't put up with Bruce's bullshit. 

He had left the party soon after, still feeling sick, and when he got home he had emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.  Now, as penance, he scrubbed that toilet bowl until it sparkled. 

His mind consumed with the phone call from Sharon, Steve tackled the rest of the bathroom.  She had found out from the church bulletin.  All his mother's church friends had assured him that Steve's name would not be in the bulletin.  Just his mother's.  But he supposed everyone in town knew his mother.  God, how many kids at school went to church?  He hoped not many.

Dr. Fury had said it would feel like a weight off his shoulders if he told people.  “You’re not giving your friends enough credit,” he had told Steve on Thursday.  “People will understand.  They want to help you.”

So why did it feel like even more weight? 

***

In the waiting room on Tuesday, James couldn’t even look at Steve.  God.  He’d been such a dick.

The silence between them stretched out over long minutes.  James couldn't help but glance over, and when he made unexpected eye contact, he looked back down at the knees curled up to his chest. 

Well, that wasn't going to make anything less awkward.  He was pretty sure Steve was never going to try to make conversation with him again.  He'd been so rude.  Maybe he should try smiling.  Yes.  That might work.

He looked over at Steve and tried to make his face move into a friendly, approachable expression.  He was probably grimacing more than anything, and of course the second he made this realization, Steve glanced over.  James returned to observing his knees.  Looked back over at Steve, whose brow had furrowed as he looked up at the clock. 

Maybe a funny face would be better, since James had apparently forgotten how to smile.  He crossed his eyes and stuck out his lower jaw so that his bottom teeth protruded over his top lip.  This time when Steve looked, the big guy's expression took on a distinctly confused tint. 

Okay.  New plan. 

James covered up one eye with his hand and said, "Guess who I am."

Steve stared at him, the brow furrow returning.  James hunched up his shoulders and made an angry face.

"Hello, Steven.  I'm ready for you."

Immediately James scratched his eyebrow and shoved his hand into his lap, looking anywhere but at Dr. Fury.

Steve stood and followed the doctor into the office.  James peeked up once Dr. Fury was gone from view.  Made eye contact with Steve.

The corner of Steve's mouth quirked up in a smile just before he disappeared through the door.


	4. Chapter 4

"When Dr. Fury walked in, I thought you were gonna shit yourself," Steve said.

The two boys had exited from their respective sessions at the same time, leading to an awkward walk down the hall to the elevator.  Until Steve had spoken. 

James choked a little laugh.  "His name is Doctor Fury?" he said.  "Oh my god.  That's perfect for him, actually.  Wow."

"He's not so bad.  What's Dr. Hill like?  She's pretty hot."

"Hot?  Ew.  She's, like, my mom's age." 

"Some guys like older women," Steve said with a shrug.  “Cougars.”

They stepped inside the elevator and James jabbed the button for the ground floor.  He gave Steve a sideways look.  Didn’t he _know_?

***

As the elevator doors squeezed shut, sealing them inside, Steve wondered if he’d laid it on too thick about Dr. Hill.  It always made him feel a little skeevy doing it.  His teammates would’ve been all over that, but Bucky just gave him that look...

Steve had a vague memory of Bucky dancing with some kid, a boy, at the eighth grade dance.  Remembered being surprised.  The other kid, Billy, was so gay everyone had known since about the third grade.  He liked to wear red sparkly laces in his converse sneakers, and had dyed his hair red, too. 

Bucky, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed gay at all.  He was on the soccer team.  He liked skateboarding.  Not that these things even mattered, since Steve himself was the same way.  Obviously, gay guys could like sports and not be lisping sissies.  Still, it had surprised him.  Just as it had surprised him a little bit when no one made fun of them.  Bucky and Billy.  Sharon and her friends had been cooing that they were “such a cute couple!”

Steve didn’t remember much else about Bucky from middle school.  All he remembered, when he saw the two boys dancing together, was thinking, _I wish I could just ask Tony to dance with me_.

Instead, he’d been at the dance with Sharon.  He liked Sharon, he did, he just didn’t like her that way.  And the cool thing about Sharon was that she didn’t mind.  She just liked hanging out with him and liked that he didn’t pressure her to do the stuff her friends were all talking about.  And when he finally told her he didn’t like her that way, she said, “I kinda figured, but I have fun hanging out with you.  I hope breaking up doesn’t mean we can’t sometimes go to the movies together?”

Maybe Sharon knew he was gay too, and she was too nice to say anything.

The elevator doors opened, and Steve realized he’d just been standing there saying nothing the whole time. 

Bucky didn’t even look at him when they got off the elevator.  “See you later,” he mumbled.

Steve stuck his hands in his pockets and headed down the sidewalk toward home. “See you.”  He heard Bucky behind him muttering, and then swearing, and Steve had barely gotten more than twenty feet away before he heard the loud clang of a bike toppling over.

***

“Need some help?”

James glared up.  “Nope.  Clearly I’ve got this whole thing under control.”

The fucking lock hadn’t wanted to come undone.  He’d had the right combination, it was not having two fucking hands to pull it apart.  In his struggle to get the lock off, he had lost his balance and fallen over.  He’d had to jerk his body to the right so he didn’t fall right on his empty shoulder joint.  In defeat, he had flopped spread eagle and stared up at the sky, which was now half-filled with Steve’s face.

Steve held out his hand.

After a moment, James held his hand out, and found himself flying to his feet like he weighed nothing.  “Geez, you on steroids or something?” James asked, rubbing the hip that had taken the brunt of his fall.

Steve picked up his bike, took off the lock and wound it up around the crossbar.  “You’re just a lightweight is all,” he said finally, holding the bike out for James. 

“Yeah, well, losing an arm’ll do that.”  James took the handlebar, trying to ignore how he had to both crowd past Steve and brush against Steve’s hand to do it.  “I got it.  You can let go now.”

“Sure,” Steve said quickly, and dropped his hand.  He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking. 

James hopped a couple of times to get his balance, then pushed off, only noticing at that moment that Steve was walking in the same direction.  He pedaled once, then let the bike drift up beside him.  With his bike on street level, he could use his right foot to push along and stay at Steve’s walking speed.  “You’re walking home?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have a bike or anything?”

Steve shrugged.

“I can give you a ride home, if you want.  I got pegs.”  He nodded toward the rear tire, which had pegs screwed onto the axle. 

With a little look over, Steve said, “Can you do tricks and stuff?”

James knew what his tone of voice meant.  _Can you do tricks and stuff... with only one arm?_   Gritting his teeth, he told him, _His mother is dying of cancer.  Shut up_.  What he said out loud was, “Not anymore.  But if you stand on them and hang on, I can give you a ride.”

Steve turned his eyes back to the ground and continued to walk.  “You don’t even know where I live.”

“So?  Tell me.”

“It’s probably not on your way.”

“Who fucking cares?  I’m offering you a ride.”

Steve looked over at him again.  Taking in the pegs, the bike, how James had only one arm.

“I’m too heavy.”

“Goddamnit, can’t I just be fucking nice to you?” James practically yelled.  “Tell me your fucking address.  Jesus Christ.”

Stunned by James’s outburst, Steve sighed.  “Nineteen Mill Street.”

“Well look at that.  Mill Street.  Right around the corner.  I live on Adams.”  It wasn’t exactly right around the corner, but the next street down.  James realized that when Bruce drove by his house the other day, he was probably on his way to pick Steve up for some stupid jock party.  Since apparently, Steve didn’t have a car.

Steve didn’t look up. 

“What are you waiting for?  Hop on.”

“I don’t need your charity.”  Steve’s voice had lowered, and fuck all if the big guy didn’t look like he was about to cry again.

“And I don’t fucking need yours,” James said.  He considered pushing his foot off the curb and booking it on his bike.  “You helped me, now I wanna help you.  That’s not charity.”

He waited.  Steve’s droopy Eeyore face was pissing him off.  If he didn’t give an answer one way or another in the next five seconds, James was going to leave him here to wallow in his own misery.  Five... four... three...

“Fine,” Steve muttered.

Without looking at James, he stepped over.  James put his foot down for a full stop and waited for Steve to climb on.  He didn’t flinch when Steve wrapped his arms around James’s chest, but it did give him a little pause.  Usually, when he did this sort of thing with Clint, Clint rested his hands on James’s shoulders.  Less gay that way, Clint said once. 

James understood why Steve didn't do that.  Steve would rather look gay than touch a gnarly fucking shoulder stump. 

He pushed off with a little more force than necessary, and felt Steve's arms tighten around his chest as he started pedaling. 

It had been so long since anyone other than his mother or physical therapist had touched him, hugged him, treated his body like it wasn't made of glass, that James was already forgetting his anger.  The tight grip meant that Steve was basically breathing against his neck, though James could tell he had turned his face a little to the side. 

Back when James had been dating Billy for those brief weeks in eighth grade, they'd done this all the time.  Only Billy had been much smaller, his arms closer to James's waist, his chin resting right on James's shoulder.  Those had been good days, before Billy dumped him for Teddy.

"It just sort of happened," Billy had said about hooking up with Teddy.

And that had totally sucked, because they'd had a lot of the same friends, and Teddy was on the football team and therefore more popular, so everyone fawned over him.  Pretty much only Clint and Sam stuck by him.  They were all on the soccer team together.  Sam was still on the soccer team - varsity this year.   Clint had quit after James's accident.  "Team's no fun without you," Clint had told him, but James knew it was mostly because he'd starting hanging out with some pothead upperclassmen.  During the months James was absent from school, Sam and Clint had gone in separate directions.  But that had been happening since the end of eighth grade, when Sam got himself a girlfriend.

Yes, this was the most action James had gotten since eighth grade.  Or since his physical therapist massaged his back last week at the end of their session.

***

Bucky smelled like pot. 

Or rather, his hoodie did.  It had a smoky sweetness to it.  Steve had never smoked pot.  His friends weren't much into that; it wasn't often that Coach required drug testing, but someone had heard that traces of marijuana were in your hair for a month after the last time you smoked, so none of them did it.  Alcohol was easier and cheaper to come by, anyway.

He wondered, as Bucky rolled to a stop in front of his house, if Bucky might be willing to sell him some pot. 

Immediately he stomped that thought into the ground like a used cigarette.  Bucky had only been _sort of_ nice to him today.  Most of the time he didn't seem to like Steve at all. 

Neither did any of his "friends," when it came down to it.  They didn't actually like Steve.  They just liked that he was popular and a "good kid" and he knew they used him more to tell their parents, "Oh, that party?  I'm going with Steve Rogers."  When Steve talked about anything other than football, his words were drowned out. 

They didn't care.  No one did.

"Thanks," he said to Bucky without looking at him.

He went inside, had a conversation with Mrs. Ross – her hand on his arm, "Oh, call me Betty!" - like he was reading a script.  _Hi, how are you, did she wake up?  Weather's so nice for this time of year, thank you for the casserole, have a nice night!_   He never called her Betty, it didn't seem right.  She was in her fifties.  The way she always made sure to touch his arm grossed him out a little.  And yet, if she pushed at him hard enough, he knew he'd probably let her do whatever she wanted to him.  Gay or not, he didn't have it in him to keep pushing people away.  Over the summer, he'd gotten pretty drunk and made out with Sharon.  Twice. 

After Mrs. Ross left and he let out a breath of relief, he settled in to do his homework.  Except he kept thinking about Bucky.  The way he smelled.  How, with his arms around him, Steve had been able to feel each time Bucky took a breath.  How, if he'd turned his head forward, Steve would have been able to kiss the back of Bucky's neck.

Shaking his head, he pulled out an earbud, listened for the wheeze of the oxygen machine, back to homework. 

He'd long since gotten over his crush on Tony Stark.  The guy had announced it as his goal one day in the locker room freshman year: "I'm gonna bang every one of those cheerleaders."  And he had gone about doing just that, until he'd fallen for Pepper Potts, who put him in his place.  Luckily, Tony hadn't gotten around to schmoozing up Sharon.  Tony was a fun guy, and Steve always had fun hanging out with him, but he definitely didn't agree with the way Tony treated girls.  Even with Pepper to keep him on a tight leash.

Since Tony, Steve hadn't really found himself attracted to anyone else.  Not even Teddy Altman, who was on the football team, who was also openly gay.  That was what had happened to Billy Kaplan.  He was dating Teddy.  Steve just wasn't really attracted to either of them.  His only options, really. 

Other than Bucky.

Steve rubbed at his eyes.  He didn't want to think about Bucky.  Just because he was Steve's only option didn't mean Steve had to have any feelings about him one way or another.  He was sure Bucky wasn't thinking about _him_.

Homework wasn't happening.  He stood, joints creaking, from his desk and pulled out his earbuds, lay down on his bed.  When he faced his windows lying down, bright fall leaves and the dimming sky were all he could see.  His chest didn't seem to want to let him breathe, not even when he hugged himself tight. 


	5. Chapter 5

James glared out the window at the overcast sky and the autumn leaves still wet from last night's rain.  He held a puzzle piece in his hand and his fingers flipped it over and over.  Dr. Hill had suggested they do a puzzle at the little table by the window in her office, and he had readily agreed.  The last thing he felt like doing today was talking.  Of course, the puzzle was just a way to make the silence less awkward between all the questions he struggled to answer.

Today's topic was yesterday's debacle.

"Your mother called yesterday, saying you'd had a panic attack.  Would you like to talk about that?"

"Not really," he mumbled.

"Maybe you could talk about what was going on when it started."

He sighed.  Part of him wanted to snap, "Why don't you just ask my mother?"  The other part knew that if he started getting belligerent in therapy, Dr. Hill could easily call up the school and get him expelled.

"Mom decided I needed to learn how to drive," he said finally.

On Tuesday, when he arrived home, his mother had a package in her hands and a big smile on her face.  "Guess what came in the mail today!" she sang.

"What," he said.

"Here, open it!" 

Dread pooled in his stomach when he saw the company logo on the box.  He used scissors to cut off the packing tape and unfolded the flaps.  Then he stared at the device inside.

"It's called a spinner.  It's so you can learn to drive!" his mother said, pulling it out from the packing peanuts.  "It gets mounted on the steering wheel, and it holds your prosthesis in place so you can hold the wheel steady while you use turn signals and all."

He tried to smile, he really did.  Just a few minutes ago he'd been wondering about the car that was parked in Steve's driveway, and thinking maybe Steve hadn't had time to get his license with his mom dying and all.  And then he'd thought about how he hadn't breathed a word to his mother about getting his own license. 

"We'll go down tomorrow and get your learner's permit, okay, honey?"  She ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead while he just stared at the spinner. 

He barely slept that night, flashes of shattering glass and headlights bearing down and that sick awful feeling of being trapped and only semi-conscious and pressed up against the body of his father.  He stopped and bought a Red Bull on the way to school, which only made his mind race all the more.  _Maybe she'll forget_ , he hoped, and repeated that like a chant throughout the day.  _Maybe she'll forget, maybe she'll forget_...

She was already in the driveway when he rolled up on his bike.  "I got it installed!" she said, waving the screwdriver.  "I figure we can head over to the DMV and you can get your permit, and then you can have your first test drive over at the old mall." 

For some reason, James thought he'd be okay.  None of it really felt like it was happening. 

"Why are you so quiet?" his mother asked more than once. 

He passed the learner's permit test no problem, even though he hadn't studied.  He glared at the woman who took his photo for the paper permit.  "The whole parking lot is going to be empty," Mrs. Barnes said as she drove the car into the old mall.  "See?  You don't have to be nervous, Bucky."

All around the pavement spread, cracking and invaded by weeds.  It all felt surreal.  The sun beat down unseasonably and James wished he wasn't wearing his flannel shirt, but he had his Edward Scissor Hand strapped on and he wasn't about to have the whole metal monstrosity exposed, not even to his mom.  The pavement shimmered as he got out of the passenger side, crossed around and got in the driver's seat.

"Now, first, you want to adjust the seat so it's comfortable for you."

James said nothing, just looked over his left shoulder where the seat adjustments were.  His mother made a little, "Oh!" sound and then started pushing the different buttons so that the seat moved forward, then back, until she asked, "Is that good?"

He hovered his foot near the gas pedal.  "Yeah," he said. 

"Okay."  She helped him fit the prosthetic claw into the spinner.  "How's that?"

He shrugged.  He didn't know how it was supposed to feel.  He was feeling like the air was too thick and like a cloud of insects were buzzing around.  While his mother shut the door and walked around the front of the car to get in the passenger seat, he tried to put his seatbelt on.

"Oh, hon, I'm sorry.  That should have been the first thing you did.  I'm not doing so well as a driving teacher, am I?"

He had to detach his prosthesis from the spinner to put on the seatbelt, which his mother buckled for him like he was five years old.  After about a billion more adjustments and his mother pointing out the turn signals and how to shift, the air in the car stifling and the collar of his shirt already a little damp, she finally gave him the key. 

Dr. Hill's voice brought him back to the present.  "And how did you feel about that?  Learning how to drive?"

"I didn't really want to do it," he mumbled.

"Did you talk to your mother about that?"

"No."  Outside, James watched pedestrians hurry across the street.  He thought he might see Steve hurrying toward the building, late for his appointment.  The big guy hadn’t shown up by the time Dr. Hill called him in.  Steve not being there, a big silent hulk in the middle of the waiting room, had thrown James off.

“Was there something stopping you from telling her how you felt?”

The ridges of the puzzle piece pressed into the pads of his fingers.  “I guess... I thought she should have known how I felt.”

She had told him to just ease his foot off the gas pedal.  He tried to swallow, but his throat felt too tight.  Hands gripping the wheel, he had followed her instructions.  When the car lurched forward, he slammed back down on the brake, and his seatbelt bit into his chest.

“Just breathe, Bucky, baby.  Take a deep breath.  Then ease your foot off.”

Breathe.  Like it was that easy.  After a couple of attempts, he managed to gulp some air into his lungs.  “Okay,” he said.  “Here I go.”

The numbers on the dashboard clock flipped a couple of times before he finally moved his foot.  The car rolled forward slightly.

“Good.  See?  This isn’t so bad.  Just keep your hands steady on the wheel, that’s it.”

There must have been some slight incline, because the car began to roll faster and faster, bumping over the frost heaves in the pavement.  He saw a pretty big one coming up.  He wasn’t sure if he should try to turn or stop, and found he couldn’t do anything.  His hands had frozen on the wheel.  Finally his mother said sharply, “Brake.  Brake!”

He slammed his foot down, only it hit the gas, and the car lurched forward.  Panicking, he pushed his foot down harder.  The seatbelt was too tight against his chest.  He couldn’t breathe.  Vaguely, behind a buzzing in his ears, he heard his mother shouting, “Brake!  Stop, Bucky!”

The car hit the bump.  In retrospect, it wasn’t that big, but the impact startled his foot off the gas pedal, and he managed to flop it around and hit the brake.  This time, the car rocked on its shocks and both he and his mother flew forward.   The seatbelts locked.

He really couldn’t breathe now.  The sound of his own desperate breaths scraped in his ears but his chest wouldn’t expand, wouldn’t let them in.  In the far distance he felt his mother shift the car into park and turn off the ignition, then she unbuckled her seatbelt to face him.  All he could see was the narrow strip of pavement glimmering in the afternoon sun.  Her hand pushed through his hair, and that was when the band around his chest broke free and he gulped in fresh oxygen as fast as he could. 

“Baby, it’s okay.  It’s okay.  Just breathe, okay?”

“So far you haven’t struck me as the kind of person who doesn’t speak his mind,” Dr. Hill observed. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t like living up to other people’s expectations,” James said.

When the fifty minutes were up, and James escaped the office building, a Xeroxed piece of paper with some bullshit “Steps to Overcoming a Panic Attack” shoved into his pocket, he flipped up his hood and climbed on his bike and pedaled through the drizzling rain that needled his face. 

He thought he was just in a hurry to get out of there, but when he rolled by Mill Street, James found himself slowing down and turning so that he ended up in Steve’s driveway. 

Steve might have had a really good reason for not showing up to therapy.  Like, his mom had died.  But although there was no car in the driveway this time, there was a light on in the kitchen, and just like that James found himself at Steve’s door, knocking.

***

“Bucky?  What are you doing here?” Steve asked. 

He hadn’t been expecting anyone.  It was a rare day when the church volunteers hadn’t found someone to come sit with his mother in the afternoon, so Steve had called the office and explained that he couldn’t make his appointment.  Just as well.  He was sore from football practice yesterday, and tired as usual.

He most certainly had not been expecting Bucky to show up at his house.

“You weren’t at therapy,” Bucky said, looking beyond him, into the house.  “I was worried.”

“Why?  I’m not allowed to have a day off?”

“I, uh... I thought...” Bucky scraped the toe of his black converse sneaker along the welcome mat.  “I got worried that you were gonna try to off yourself or something.”

“Oh.”  Steve couldn’t think of much response to that.  “Well, I’m not.”

They didn’t look at each other for an awkward period of time.  Steve started to get the feeling that Bucky wanted Steve to invite him inside.  Steve kind of wanted to. 

“Okay, well, I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself today.  See ya at school.”

Bucky took off on his bike like a shot.

Slowly, watching Bucky pedal away, Steve closed the door.  He found that, once the door was closed, he couldn’t quite bring himself to push away from it.  Instead, the door propped him up while the living room turned blurry.

Why the hell was he crying?  Oh yeah, because the kid who seemed to hate him most of the time had cared enough to notice when he wasn’t there.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update has been so long in coming, I've been traveling with family and it's been a little draining...

When Steve saw Bucky in the hallway at school the next day, the urge to smile overwhelmed him.  Steve normally smiled at a lot of people in the hallway: his friends, his teachers, anyone on the football team, anyone who smiled at him.  Maybe, because Bucky had never smiled at him, never looked at him, never did more than glare at everyone in the hallway, Steve realized he had never smiled at Bucky.

Now, at the door to their English class, Bucky looked up from the folds of his black hoodie, and Steve smiled at him and let him enter the room first.

Bucky’s face scrunched up. “Hey,” he muttered.

Steve took his usual seat near the front and by the window, while Bucky slouched to his desk at the back of the room and collapsed into the chair.  He wished he knew of something he could chat with Bucky about.  It didn’t seem like they had a whole lot in common.  And then Sharon walked in, and he lost the chance to say anything.

“Did you hear about Tony’s Halloween party?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, he told everybody at gym.”  Steve pulled out his notebooks and his copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ and a pen.

“Do you know what you’re gonna dress up as?”

“No.”

“No ideas?  None at all?”  Suddenly Sharon touched his hand.  “I’m sorry, I get it.  You have more important things to worry about.”

Steve pretended he had to get something out of his backpack as a means to get Sharon’s hand off him.  This was yet another reason why he hadn’t told anyone about his mom.

“I mean, all the costume ideas I have are for a couple.  Like, I was thinking, Bonnie and Clyde would be really cool.  I could wear my flapper dress from the Roaring Twenties dance last year, and my little brother has all these real-looking nerf guns.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve said, because Sharon had stopped talking and seemed to expect some kind of response. 

“I mean, all you’d have to do is wear a suit and maybe a fedora – I have one – and then we’d have a really awesome costume.”

“Uh, we?” Steve looked up.

“Yeah.  You said you didn’t have a costume.  What do you think?”

Steve was stumped on how to tell Sharon he didn’t particularly even want to go to a Halloween party, never mind as part of a couples costume, but luckily the bell rang.

***

“Everybody take your seats,” Mr. Dugan called out.  “We have a lot to do today.”

James propped his chin up on his hand.  He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and he'd been running late, so no Red Bull to help get him through the morning.  Mostly he had felt like an idiot, showing up at Steve's house, then coming up with that stupid lie that he'd been worried about Steve killing himself.  Well, Steve acted pretty depressed, but obviously he wasn't suicidal.  And Steve hadn't even let him into the house.  Acted like it was none of James's business.

But then Steve just fucking smiled at him.

"...I'm going to split you into groups," Mr. Dugan was saying, and everyone groaned a little.  James put his forehead down on his desk and bumped it a couple of times.  Fuck.  Group projects were the worst.  "There will be a couple groups of three and if the groups of two want to combine, I'm open to that." 

It became clear, as James was one of the first names called, that Mr. Dugan had split them up alphabetically.  James Barnes and Sharon Carter.  Sharon turned to look around like she wasn't exactly sure who she'd been paired with.  When she saw him, glaring at her, she turned back around with a sigh and said something to Steve, who had turned at the same time as Sharon and smiled at him.  Again.

Whatever Sharon had said, Steve's smile faded.

***

"He's not that bad," Steve whispered.

"Everybody knows about that thing he wrote," Sharon said.  "Like, I feel bad for the accident or whatever, but he doesn't need to act like he does."

Steve didn't say anything further.  Mr. Dugan announced that Steve would be working with James Rhodes, who everyone called Rhodey.  Rhodey was a good guy.  A bit serious, but he was on student council with Steve and they got along.

"We're both groups of two," Sharon whispered, as Mr. Dugan called out the last group and then told everyone they could switch seats to be near their partners.  "Maybe we can work together."

"I think you'll be fine," Steve said, hefting his backpack and collecting his notebook.

"Steve, _please_."

"Let's at least get the assignment first."  He shifted to the next desk over to sit beside Rhodey.

***

James refused to move.  He had empty desks on either side of him.  He waited, and after Sharon gave a huge sigh, she picked up her bag and headed his way.

She didn't say anything except, "Hi," when she sat down.  They both watched Mr. Dugan pass out the assignments to each group. 

"There are several options, and I've marked down the ones that I wouldn't mind groups of four working on.  I don't need a group of four doing the music playlist, okay?"  James looked down at the sheet of paper.  That was the first option on the list: make a Holden Caulfield playlist, with CD art and explanations for why each song was included with textual evidence.  _Ugh_.  "You will have two weeks, and you will need to present your project in front of the class."

If he could have done any of the projects alone, they would have been cool.  Sure, he could make a playlist for Holden.  But with Sharon's help he was sure some Taylor Swift song would end up on there.  No way.  A graphic/comic of the book?  Sure, not that he could draw.  That was one of the 4-person options.  The other 4-person option was to make a video, which he wanted no part of. 

"Ooh, look, we could make a video!" Sharon said brightly.  If she didn't think James caught how her eyes flicked toward Steve and his partner, she didn't deserve to be in an honors-level class.

"I'd rather write a research paper on teen depression," James said, dead serious.  It was option number three on the list.

Sharon flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder.   "Don't be boring."  Then she hissed, "Steve!"

Steve gave her an annoyed look, then turned back to Rhodey.

"Wow, you two have a great relationship," James muttered.  "I know that's how I want my boyfriend to look at me."

"He's not my boyfriend," Sharon snapped.  James took a moment to consider this while Sharon said louder, "Steve!"

When Steve refused to turn around again, Sharon actually got up and went over to him.

"I don't want to do a video!" James called out.

***

"Sounds like you discussed this with your partner," Steve commented drily.

Rhodey just raised his eyebrows and waited.

"Fine.  We can do the other one," Sharon said.  "The comic book.  You like to draw, right?"

Steve shrugged.  Pretty much only Sharon knew that, because she'd been in his room.  But did she need to tell everyone else in the world about it? 

"What do you think, Rhodey?" Sharon asked.

"I was thinking the psychological assessment paper sounded interesting," Rhodey said.  "I've been developing some theories that Holden has bipolar disorder..."

"Maybe we could make that a theme in the comic book," Sharon pushed.  "Come on, Steve, please." She dropped her voice.  "I don't know if I can work with him by myself.  He's creepy.”

“No he isn’t.”  Steve’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh.  He turned to Rhodey.  “Do you mind working in a group of four?”

Rhodey looked conflicted.  He glanced over at Bucky, who sat doodling angrily.  “Do you think we could do the research paper as a four-person group?” he asked.

“Maybe.  We can ask Mr. Dugan.”

“I guess,” Rhodey said finally, looking at Sharon.

“Great!”  Sharon didn’t even bother going back over to where Bucky was sitting.  “Hey!  Bucky!”

***

At the sound of that name, James glared daggers at Sharon. 

“Come on.  We’re gonna work with Steve and Rhodey.”  Sharon wasn’t even looking at him.  She was already pulling out her notebook and getting all comfy with her new group.

James slammed his notebook shut, scraped his chair back, and went through the process of slinging his messenger bag over his head and stacking his books neatly so he could scoop them up with one arm.  When he made his way over to the three of them, he stood there, glowering, until Steve jumped up and grabbed an empty desk and dragged it over.  “Sorry,” Steve said several times throughout the process.  James dumped his books on the surface and slumped into the chair. 

It was only after he sat down that he felt bad about glaring at Steve.  None of this was Steve’s fault. 

As Sharon tried to force the group into shape, hindered not only by James and Steve, but also by Rhodey, who was campaigning hard for the research paper – “I’m much better at scholarly work” – James tried to figure out what exactly he could do here.  Sharon had assigned Steve to drawing the comic book, and after some debate with Rhodey, she had taken on the responsibilty of writing it, because she was the “most creative” in the group.  “Maybe you can pick out the important quotes for me to put into it,” Sharon suggested to Rhodey. 

“Guess that leaves me for the important task of coloring the thing,” James said abruptly.

Steve shifted, and his foot nudged James’s.  When James looked up, though, Steve wasn’t making eye contact, so he figured Steve wasn’t doing it on purpose. 

“Yes!  That would be great!” Sharon said, not getting the sarcasm.  “Once Rhodey and I get the words all figured out, we’ll pass it along to you and Steve.  Or... I don’t know, maybe us three should meet up at my house to figure it out?”

James glared at her. 

“Uh, if this is a group project,” said Steve, looking briefly at James, “maybe the whole group should meet.  All four of us.”  Steve’s foot tapped his again.  This time, when he looked up, they made eye contact.  Steve looked back down at his notebook right away.

James didn’t especially care if they all met up, not when Sharon had just made it very clear that she didn’t want him at her house.  Glancing around at each of them, Rhodey looked like he wished he were part of any one of the other groups.

“ _Fine_.”  Sharon flicked her hair back, annoyed.  “You guys free on Sunday afternoon?”

They were, and armed with Sharon’s address and phone number, James found that he wasn’t totally dreading it.  Steve was going to be there, and somehow that made him feel a lot better about it.


	7. Chapter 7

Of course he had a flat tire.  Of course he did.

James hurled his bike at the pavement and screamed, “Fuck!” into the quiet Sunday afternoon, then stomped back into the house, slamming the door behind him.  “Goddamn fucking piece of shit life!” he yelled at no one in particular.  He might have smashed his fist through the wall, but he’d done that before, and it only left him with no hands, so instead he headed into the garage and started throwing shit around.

“Bucky!  What is all the yelling!” his mother said from inside the house.

He ignored her, tossing aside gardening equipment in search of the bike pump.

"Bucky!" 

This was the shit end to a shit weekend.  Friday he'd done nothing – Clint was working, so he ended up staying home and going online and somehow managing to end up on a site that pumped his computer so full of viruses that it crashed, and then he was up until two in the morning doing a system restore that took forever.  His mom hadn't appreciated his tantrum and woke him up extra early: "If I'm awake, you can be awake too" - no lawn-mowing this time, thank god, but enough hours of weeding her garden that his knees ached.  "When you're finished, maybe we can try driving again," she had suggested, like it was some kind of reward.

"No thanks," he had grumbled.  Luckily he had his cell phone in his pocket.  He texted Clint a 911 and before his mom forced him to watch some Nicholas Sparks piece of shit movie she'd rented from the Red Box, Clint was rolling in and sweet-talking his mom into getting James out of the house for the night.

Unfortunately, Clint was gung-ho about getting high and going skateboarding, which meant that James ended up with more bruises than he could count and spent most of his time watching Clint do all the cool shit he used to be able to do and feeling sorry for himself. 

Now he had to spend his Sunday afternoon at Share's house coloring.

His mother's voice approached the garage door.  "James Buchanan Barnes, if you do not answer me right this minute--"

"What?" James screamed at her.  "I have a fucking flat tire!  I'm looking for the goddamned bike pump!"

"I did NOT raise you to use that kind of language!" his mother yelled.

"Sorry!" he yelled back, even though she was standing right there.  "I have to meet my group to work on my assignment and I have a fu... a flat tire, and I can't find the stupid bike pump!"  He kicked over a stack of plastic flower pots. 

"If you'd calm yourself and look around you, you'd see it sitting right here," Mrs. Barnes huffed, and marched over to the other side of the garage.  Now he felt like an idiot.  She pushed it at him.  "I don't know what's gotten _into_ you this week."

"Nothing," he said, taking the pump and heading out to the driveway.

"I don't believe that for a second."  She followed him.  "Do you need help?"

"I can do it," he snapped, and moments later, as she was walking away, he wished he hadn't.  Of all the clumsy procedures, and then he saw there was a hole in his tire, and he threw the bike pump across the lawn.  "Why can't anything ever be easy?"

He kicked his bike half-heartedly.  He was already losing steam.  Head down, he went inside to apologize to his mother and ask her for a ride to Sharon's house.  "Put the bike pump back in the garage where it belongs, and move your bike off the front walk, and I'll take you."

"Can't you give me a break just once?" he complained, already on his way outside to do what she'd asked. 

By the time he got into the car where she was waiting, he was covered in sweat and feeling pretty grumpy.  Then, as she backed the car out of the driveway, he realized they'd be driving right by Steve's house to get to Sharon's.  "Hey, can we stop and see if Steve needs a ride?"

"Steve who?"

"Steve Rogers.  He lives right on Mill Street."

"Oh, is he that boy--"

"Yes, Mom.  Don't say anything to him about that.  Please."

"That's awful nice of you, Bucky, to think of him."

"I don't even know if he'll be home.  His house is right here."

James got out and ran up to the door.   This time there wasn't a car parked in Steve's driveway, and James wondered if maybe he'd been wrong.  That Steve did have his license somehow and had already driven over to Sharon's.  He knocked and waited.

***

"Finally," Steve muttered, and ran over to open up the door.  He squinted at the person standing on his doorstep.  "Bucky?"

The other boy shrugged.  "Yeah, I figured I'd see if you needed a ride to Sharon's?"

"Uh... um," Steve looked back into the house like that would help.  "I'm waiting for someone," he said finally.

"Oh, is Rhodey giving you a ride?"

"No," he said before he could stop himself.  Why did he have to be so honest all the time?  Why wasn't it easier to just lie?  Bucky would never have known the difference... until he showed up at Sharon's and Rhodey was already there, without Steve. 

"My mom's driving," Bucky said after a long pause.

Steve realized that Bucky had thought Steve was nervous that Bucky was driving.  "Um, yeah, that's okay.  I just have to... wait here.  I'll head up to Sharon's when I'm ready."

Bucky stared at him, then looked beyond him into the house.  Why wasn't he going away?  Steve tried to think of something else he might be able to say to make Bucky leave.  The longer Bucky stood there, the more awkward Steve felt. 

"Is your mom okay?" Bucky asked finally, looking defeated, somehow.

"She's fine," Steve said quickly.

"Oh, okay."  Bucky's shoulders pressed inward, even more than they already were.  "Because, um, my mom saw the thing in the church bulletin, so I know that's she's, uh..."

A hole seemed to be sucking Steve straight through the carpet.  Bucky looked so far away, and Steve wasn't sure that if he spoke, Bucky would be able to hear him.  Bucky knew.  Sharon knew.  Probably everyone in the whole school knew, and they were all just waiting for Steve to crack.

"Are you okay?"

Steve heard Bucky's voice far off, and even heard himself reply, "I'm fine," even though he still felt like he was falling.

"No, you're not.  Sit down.  Jesus."

The couch hit him hard in the legs, and he collapsed into it.  Where had Bucky gone?  Steve struggled to climb up.

"Chill, dude."  Something cold on his face.  "Seriously.  Just relax.  You want me to tell my mom to come in?"

"No!"  The word came out too loudly.  Steve blinked and he could see colors again.  Could see that Bucky was right at his shoulder, pressing a bag of frozen broccoli against his face.  "Sorry.  She doesn't need to come in.  I'm fine."

"Yeah, right.  Sure you are."  The coldness moved across his forehead slowly.  "Look, do you want me to call someone?  Like, your dad, maybe?"

"He's useless," Steve said.  He tried to roll himself over, and somehow hadn't realized what side of him Bucky was on.  He ended up with his face in Bucky's chest, and felt too tired to roll back over. 

"Um, okay." 

Bucky's hoodie still smelled like pot.  Vaguely Steve wondered if he could get high from just smelling Bucky's sweatshirt.  He wouldn't mind that.  The sweatshirt, old and unwashed as it was, felt soft on his cheek.  He had his face pressed into Bucky’s sweatshirt.  He knew this was not a good idea and yet his muscles felt like jelly and the idea of pulling his face from the wall of Bucky’s chest seemed like a lot of work. 

***

Well, this was awkward.  James didn’t know what to do.  Steve was basically passed out on him, and he hadn’t really acknowledged anything about his mom.  Of course, that was probably what made him freak out, James telling him that he knew.  Obviously Steve wanted it to be a secret. 

“Okay, Steve, time to get up now,” James said finally, knowing that if he stayed inside too long his mom would start to worry and come inside.  He pushed Steve’s head up as best he could.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve said.

“Are you sure?  Is your mom okay?”  James barely finished that question when some curly-haired lady in a hideous sweater came up to the door and walked right inside. 

“Steven?  Oh, my.  What’s going on?  Steven?  Are you all right?” 

That shrill voice seemed to wake Steve right up.  “I’m fine, Mrs. Ross.  I’m fine, really I am.”

“Well, I’m glad you had your little friend here to help you out.  My goodness, you darn near gave me a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  As he sat up, he dragged his hands across James’s legs.  James could tell Steve was still a bit groggy, but it was hard not to jump away.  He stood up as soon as Steve had righted himself, and snatched up the bag of broccoli to return to the freezer.

“I do hope your mother is doing a mite better than you are!”

Ugh, the old lady was patting Steve’s head.  Steve ducked away and got to his feet, looking wobbly.

“She’s taking a nap.  She’s fine, really.  Bucky’s just here to pick me up, we’re going to my friend Sharon’s to work on a school project.”

“I think you’d be better off laying down for a bit.  You work so hard to keep your grades up, I’m sure your classmates can help you out this once, can’t they?”

James watched Steve continuously extract himself from the grabby hands of Mrs. Ross.

“Steve’s fine, ma’am.”  James shouldered his way through, making sure to use his stump shoulder so that Mrs. Ross recoiled in horror.  “He just needs to eat.  Sharon’s gonna order some pizza, so ol’ Steve here will be good to go.”

Steve nodded eagerly.  “Yup, that’s right.  Thank you so much for sitting with my mom this afternoon, Mrs. Ross.  I really appreciate it.”

“All right, then, dear.  Just remember to take care of yourself.  Take it easy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

James shoved Steve out the door.  “Let’s go.  We’re gonna be late.”

***

When they exited the car at Sharon’s house, Bucky shut the door and muttered, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone kiss that much ass before.”

“I was just thanking her for the ride.”

“Now I know why all the teachers love you.”

They shuffled up to the door, with Bucky letting Steve take the lead.  “Thanks for... at the house...”

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said, not looking at him.

The door opened and Sharon stood there, smiling.  "Steve!  I was getting worried about you!”  Her smile disappeared when she saw who stood behind him.  “Oh, hi, Bucky.  Did you guys... come here together?"

"Yeah, Bucky's mom gave me a ride," Steve said. 

Bucky glared at Sharon until she stepped aside and let them in.  Steve nudged Bucky with his elbow and hissed, “Be nice.” 

In the living room, Rhodey sat on the couch, looking super awkward.  There was a plate of cookies and glasses of milk set out on the coffee table.  Steve settled himself in and grabbed a handful of cookies.

“Okay, so I took the liberty of writing up a few notes,” Rhodey said, pulling out a folder with a sheaf of pages covered in his neat, straight up-and-down handwriting.  “A first draft.  I just wanted to make sure we covered all of the relevant themes.”

Bucky slumped onto the floor.  “Well, I brought my markers.”  He pulled a set of markers out of his backpack and tossed it onto the table, wrinkling Rhodey’s papers and knocking into a glass of milk.

With a huge sigh, Sharon said, “Okay, then.  Let’s get to work.”

Over the course of two hours, Steve sketched out a rough draft of their graphic novel, using mostly the work Rhodey had already done.  Bucky picked at his shoes, checked his phone, doodled on a blank piece of paper.  A few times, Steve specifically asked Bucky for his opinion, just so he didn’t feel left out.  Sharon and Rhodey seemed intent on doing exactly that.  Or at least, Sharon did.  Rhodey seemed mostly concerned with making this “comic book” (said like a dirty word) as scholarly as possible. 

Finally they had a good enough rough draft that Steve could then draw a final draft for Bucky to color.  “See?  He didn’t really have to be here,” Sharon whispered as they were all getting ready to leave.  Bucky had already texted his mom and was waiting outside.

“You could have made him feel more included,” Steve said.  “He’s not a bad guy.  He’s in an honors class; he’s just as smart as everyone else.”

“Whatever.  He’s rude.”  Sharon finished putting her cookies in the cookie jar.  “Do you want to stay for dinner tonight?”

“I gotta get back.”  Steve edged toward the door.  “Bucky’s mom is giving me a ride.”

“Steve.”  Exactly what he was trying to avoid: Sharon hugging him.  Pushing at him.  Wanting more from him than he could give.  “Please don’t push me away.  I care about you.  I can help you, if you let me.”

“I know,” Steve choked out.  He really did want to push her away.  He couldn’t tell how much of that had to do with him trying to keep his emotional walls up, and how much had to do with feeling like Sharon was using this whole situation as an excuse to come on to him. 

He put his hands on her shoulders gently extracted himself.  “I’ll call you later,” he said, and quickly walked outside to wait with Bucky.

Blinking, head down, he came to stand at Bucky’s side. 

“She’s pushy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice mostly back to normal.  “Uh, so, I was thinking, if you wanted to get together and color some pages while I’m drawing them, it might be good, you know?”

When Bucky looked up at him through that unfamiliar shock of black hair, his eyes looked so, so blue.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

It only took Steve a few moments to realize that the quirk of Bucky’s lips was meant to be a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hi, _Clint_." 

Both James and Clint looked up from their respective lunches to see a brunette in a lavender sweater set and matching headband smiling at them.  At Clint, specifically.  James shifted his gaze to take in Clint's face.  His friend refused to make eye contact with the girl.

"Hi, Kate," Clint grumbled.

"Hey," James said, turning his attention back to the girl, who looked like a freshman. 

"So, Clint."  Kate leaned against the table, arching her back.  "Are you working today?"

"Yeah."

"I'll probably stop by, then.  Are you going to the game on Friday?"

At Clint's grunted non-answer, Kate pouted her lips a little.  "I'll be there, if you want to go.  My dad could come pick you up."

Clint cleared his throat.  "I'm good."

Undeterred, Kate flipped her hair over her shoulder.  "I'm one of the majorettes," she informed James, who up till now she had completely ignored.

"That's cool," James said.  He couldn't help but smile at Clint and kick him a little under the table.  Clint frowned and responded by smashing a fist into James's knee.  "Ow- hey, you can have lunch with us if you want."  He gestured toward the six empty chairs around their table.  "Plenty of room."

Now Kate looked at Clint.  "I would, but I already ate.  See you later."  She wiggled her fingers and walked off.

"What was that?" James asked.

"Nothing," Clint said.

"Nothing?  Clint, that girl wants you."

"Nah.  She's just some stupid freshman who comes into Subway all the time."

"Clint.  _Clint_.  That girl likes you.  _Likes_ likes you."

"It's just Kate, dude.  She's all right but she's, like, annoying.  Like my annoying little sister."

"You don't have a little sister."  As soon as James said this, he thought of Rebecca and how he didn't have an annoying little sister anymore, either. 

"It's called a simile, man, geez.  She's a kid.  I'm not a pedo."

James let the subject drop like a dead weight.  He shoved a carrot stick in his mouth as an excuse not to speak and it tasted like ash.  Already he could feel the familiar pressure behind his eyes and after a shaky breath, he flipped up his hood and put his head down on the table in the crook of his arm.

"Nap time?" Clint asked.

James grunted something.  Sometimes, it was nice that he and his best friend didn't need to communicate in words.  If he cried quietly enough, everyone would just think he was sleeping.

***

"Hi," Steve said to Bucky when Bucky shuffled into English class.  His eyes were red.  Pot, probably, Steve figured.  Once again he wondered if Bucky could get him some.

Bucky didn't say hi back.  Just looked at Steve as he walked by.  Steve had expected to see bloodshot, tired eyes – instead Bucky had those same intense blue eyes Steve had noticed yesterday, hot and angry.  Wasn't pot supposed to make you mellow and happy? 

Steve felt stupid for even saying hi.  So what if Bucky had given him a ride?  He probably just felt sorry for Steve, like everyone else who knew about his mom.  It had probably been Mrs. Barnes's whole idea to give Steve a ride to Sharon's, and Bucky was just doing whatever his mom told him to. 

A burn crept up the back of his neck as he remembered his panic attack and how he'd ended up with his face on Bucky's chest.  He'd thought about that moment last night.  All night.  He had tried to imagine his pillowcase as Bucky's sweatshirt, and then...

But there was no way Bucky could know that.  So stupid, to think that moment had meant anything.  Bucky probably thought he was a freak.  Like Bucky would ever have a panic attack. 

Then again, Bucky had also saved him from Mrs. Ross. 

No, it was stupid.  _He_ was stupid.  He buried his face in his hands and rubbed at his eyes.  Stupid for thinking Bucky might actually like him as a person.

“Hey Steve.  Are you okay?”  Sharon’s hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m fine,” he said, lifting his head and slipping on that practiced smile. 

“So, I didn’t get a chance to ask you on Sunday... did you still want to do Bonnie and Clyde with me?  I asked around and Pepper has a fedora you can borrow.”

Tony’s party again.  Steve took a deep breath.  “Sure.  It’s Friday night?”

Sharon gave him a look.  “No, it’s Saturday night.  Friday night we have a game.  Remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said.

Leaning in, she whispered, “Are you okay? Like, really okay?”

“Yes,” he said wearily.  “I’m just tired.”

She rubbed his back.  “Maybe you just need to relax.”

“Kinda hard to do, when I have practice every day this week.” 

“You know what I could do?” Sharon whispered, because the bell was about to ring and Mr. Dugan had started writing on the board.  “After practice today?  I could come over your house.  Give you a massage.”

Oh, god, that was the last thing he wanted.  He felt all his muscles clench up a little bit and hoped she couldn’t feel that.  “Uh, I gotta do my homework.”

“Yeah, me too.  But wouldn’t that feel nice?  To have a massage before we study?”

Steve swallowed and looked up at Mr. Dugan, willing his teacher to start class early.  “I don’t know.”  A massage would feel nice.  Maybe if someone else were giving it.  Like if Tony would come over and straddle his back and rub his muscles... Or Bucky...

Bucky?  Steve rubbed his face again and shrugged his shoulders.  The guy only had one arm, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to ask Bucky to do that.  Geez, like Bucky _would_ do that.  He needed to get his head out of Bucky’s sweatshirt and think realistically.  Bucky didn’t like him like that.  He had dealt with Steve’s panic attack without making fun of him.  And given him a ride home on his bike.  That was it.  Bucky didn’t like Steve.  Not really.  And definitely not in _that way_.  Bucky didn’t even know Steve was gay.

The bell rang.  Thank god.

Sharon moved away.  “We’ll talk later,” she whispered.

Throughout class, Steve felt Bucky’s presence behind him.  He wished he could turn around and see if Bucky was looking at him.  It felt like Bucky’s eyes were boring holes in the back of his neck.  Steve’s body felt hot, his jeans so tight even when he shifted his weight, making the chair creak. 

The last time he had felt like this was in eighth grade, when he had realized he had a crush on Tony Stark.

They used to sit next to each other at lunch all the time.  Joked around, like guys do.  Then Steve had a wet dream.  About Tony.  Tony looking at him at lunch, and smiling, and putting his hand on Steve’s leg under the table.  Because it was a dream, everyone else kind of faded away, and then they were actually sitting up on the bleachers at the high school football field, all alone, and Tony asked if he could put his hand down Steve’s pants.  Dream Tony had barely gotten Steve’s pants unbuttoned before Steve woke up from the dream with a start, the front of his boxer shorts and stomach wet.

After that dream, Steve had barely been able to look at Tony.  He was afraid that if Tony smiled at him, he’d pop a boner, and then everyone would think Steve was gay.  Over the next couple of months, Steve came to realize that he _was_ gay.  It took about that long to figure out how to act normal around Tony.  To not constantly blush and get flustered and feel self-conscious about every move he made, sure that Tony would see and think Steve was a nerd.

Even as Steve took notes on the class discussion, he began to realize, uncomfortably, that he now felt the same way about Bucky.

***

James spent most of class staring out the window at the brown leaves drifting down from the mostly empty branches.  He needed to think of something else besides how this time of year made him feel.  Something else besides those leaves piling up around a cold granite gravestone.

Maybe he should go to Subway after school and hang out there for a while.  He could do his homework, and he wouldn’t be alone like he would be at home.  Clint would be there.  And that girl Kate.  Maybe he could find out if Kate really did like Clint.  For some reason, he thought Kate and Clint would be a cute couple.  Kate looked like such a prep, and then you had Clint the stoner. 

If only Clint wasn’t so hung up on Natasha. 

Did the football guys hang out there every afternoon?  They couldn’t, they had to have football practice sometime, right?  Probably right after school.  Yeah, because Steve’s therapy appointment must be after football practice.  He’d have time to walk there after practice and get there for four o’clock.  So practice probably went for, like, an hour after school.  That was something, anyway.  He could kill an hour at Subway before going home.

He had only just tuned back in to the class discussion when James saw Steve turn in his seat slightly, like he was trying to look at something out the window.  He squinted, then looked right at James.  And immediately turned forward and looked down at his notebook. 

James watched Steve for a minute, watched the big guy squirm a little in his seat.  Watched Sharon glance over just for a second.

Why did he get the feeling Steve had turned around only to look at him?  Did he have something stuck in his teeth?  He ran his tongue over them, felt nothing.  Maybe his eyes were still red from lunch.  He rubbed them, knowing that would only make it worse. 

When the bell rang, Steve left the room like a shot, with Sharon trailing after him like a lost puppy. 

Oh well.  Whatever.


	9. Chapter 9

“Do you want to come back to my place after this?” Steve asked.  He had chosen to sit right next to James in the waiting room today, so that their elbows touched.  “You can stay for dinner.  And maybe after that.”

“Sure,” James said.  Why did he feel so hot all of a sudden?  “That sounds great.”

“Yeah.  You can spend the night, too, if you want.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah.  I don’t mind sharing my bed.”

“Oh.”  James felt really hot now.  He put his hand between his legs, hoping to cover up his boner. 

“Does that sound good to you?”  Steve had turned to face him a little.  Leaned closer, so his whole bicep pressed against James’s.  “I have a twin bed.  We’d have to squeeze together.”

“Yeah, that’s... that sounds good,” James said.  “Is it, uh, hot in here, or is it just me...?”

“It’s definitely hot in here.”  Standing, Steve grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and hauled it up over his head.  So many muscles.  His back must’ve been twice as wide as James’s.

“Oh my god,” James gasped, and his eyes snapped open to the dark of his room. 

***

It was bad enough getting through the school day after a dream like that.  James kept noticing Steve out of the corner of his eye.  Yesterday, he’d only noticed how Steve was noticing him.  Now James felt confused and out of sorts and wished he had some fucking privacy.

Now James walked into the waiting room with the worst case of deja-vu ever. 

Thank god Steve was sitting in his usual spot.  James slumped into his seat and willed his dick to stay cool.

Yeah, okay, so he had liked Steve’s big arms around him when he gave Steve a ride home that time. And the other day, when Steve had just flopped onto his chest... that had been awkward, but also kind of nice?  His subconscious was sending a message loud and clear that his body thought Steve was attractive.  But now James couldn’t even look at Steve’s face.  Of course he knew what Steve’s face looked like, but he wanted to see Steve’s face in the light of this new revelation.  Was Steve attractive?

Although, did it really matter?  Steve wasn’t gay.  He couldn’t be.  He had never said anything remotely gay.  Apparently Sharon wasn’t his girlfriend anymore, but they were together since eighth grade.  Sharon didn’t seem the type to be anyone’s beard.  And if Steve was that deep in the closet, there was no hope for a relationship between them. 

Yesterday, at Subway, James had seen the football players crossing the street and bolted out of there.  But of course he saw Teddy Altman, holding Billy’s hand, and that just brought back all kinds of bad memories.  And good ones.  Remembering how it was to kiss someone, and hold their hand, and have someone who’d go to Subway with him.

“Hey, Bucky?  Are you free tonight?” Steve asked suddenly, his voice a little loud.

James could only make himself look as high as Steve’s knees.  “Yeah.”

“I was thinking we could get together to work on that project?  The comic book?”

“Sure.  Like right after this or after dinner?”

“Um...” Steve’s knee bounced.  “I, uh, I gotta feed my... my mom...” His voice cracked.

“Oh, that’s okay.  I can come over to your place after dinner then?  Is that better?”

“Uh... Well, there’s a night nurse, uh, who comes over at seven.  Maybe it would be better to go to your house?  Would that be okay?”

No chance to find out if Steve owned a twin bed or not, then, James thought.  “That’s fine.  My mom’s pretty cool.”  He pulled out his phone.  “I’ll just text her and let her know you’re coming over.”

“Okay, good.”  Steve took a deep breath and then meditated on his hands.

James sneaked a few looks over at Steve.  He looked as still as Rodin’s Thinker, and this afforded James the opportunity to mute his phone and angle it so he could take a picture.  Then he sat back and looked at the picture.  No need to stare.

God, Steve was more than attractive.  He was beautiful.  How was it possible that James had never noticed that before?  His mind had been so clouded with his hatred of the stupid jocks that he’d never let himself see beyond that.  Steve’s skin had a sun-kissed glow from football practice.  His nose looked like something off an ancient Greek bust, straight and noble.  He had a nice full bottom lip, flush pink lips.  In the picture, Steve was looking down, which showed off eyelashes so long girls were probably jealous. 

Mostly, though, it was the way Steve sat there, looking sad and vulnerable, yet strong and self-contained.  It made him want to go over there and hug him. 

James sighed, looking up in alarm when he realized how loud he was.  Steve had glanced up but that was it.  At the tiny little moment of eye contact they shared, James suddenly wished he’d gotten a picture of Steve with his eyes open. 

***

“Have you thought about what will happen _after_?” Dr. Fury asked him.

Steve didn’t feel like talking about this today.  He didn’t feel like talking about this _any_ day, but he also felt a little spark of anger at the question, like there was a possibility Steve hadn’t considered what would happen after his mother died.

If he were Bucky, he probably would have snapped back something sarcastic.  “ _Noooo_ , I hadn’t thought about that at _aaaaall_.”

“Yeah,” was what Steve said. 

“Tell me about it.”

Steve sighed.  He had memorized the pattern of the carpet by now; it was easy to lose himself in that pattern.  “There’s my dad,” he said flatly.  “After my mom first out she had cancer, I tried to call him, but his number was disconnected.”  That hadn’t really been a surprise, seeing as how his father had taken off when Steve was four and never paid any child support.  “I guess if no one can find him then I’ll just go to a foster home or something until I'm eighteen.”  Steve choked back his worries about turning eighteen in less than a year.  Then he'd be on his own.

Dr. Fury shifted forward and opened a file folder.  “Can I assume you’ve spoken with a social worker?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.  That had happened last year, when Steve had missed some school because his mother had been hospitalized.   His mom had kind of freaked out then.  Got a lawyer, put her affairs in order.  Had a social worker come and talk to him.  "Her will basically says that my dad gets custody of me, if he wants me."

"How do you feel about that?"

How else could he feel about that?  If his own father didn't want him, he couldn't imagine anyone else wanting him, either.

***

"You're coming up on a pretty big anniversary," Dr. Hill stated, looking at James over the tops of her reading glasses.

For a minute James wasn't sure what she was talking about.  Anniversary?  Like, his birthday?  His birthday was in March.  That couldn't be it.  And his parents' anniversary was in May.

Then it hit him.  The anniversary of the accident.  He found himself not able to breathe for a second, that was how hard it hit him. 

November sixth.  Not quite _Remember, remember the fifth of November_ , but close enough that whenever he heard that phrase he thought of it. 

"James?  Are you alright?"

He clenched his jaw.  "Yeah."

"A lot of people find themselves getting triggered more often around the time of anniversaries," Dr. Hill said.  Had she really not fucking noticed his reaction?  He balled up his fist inside the pocket of his hoodie.  "I don't think we've discussed triggers before and I think now would be a good time."

He waited, saying nothing.  Glaring at the floor.  God, he hated the fucking carpet in this place.

"Do you know what a trigger is?"

He shrugged.

"We've talked about how that isn't an answer," Dr. Hill said gently.  "I'd rather not bore you with a lecture about what triggers are."

Deep breath.  "I kind of get what a trigger is."

"Do you have any triggers that you're aware of?"

James ground his teeth and tried not to scream.  " _Obviously_ , cars."

"All cars?  Are you including trucks or vans?"

When he closed his eyes, he could see the dashboard of his dad's black Volkswagen Passat.  He opened his eyes and let the carpet take the brunt of his anger.  "I haven't been in a truck since then.  Or a van."

"What about your mom's car?  Does it trigger you to ride in the passenger seat of your mom's car?  Or have you only been triggered by driving her car?"

"I--"  His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat to cover it up.  "I guess when my mom has to drive me somewhere, I freak out a little."

"What do you mean by 'freak out a little'?"

So he explained how he gets quiet, and doesn't talk unless his mom bugs him to, "Answer me, I'm talking to you," and then he'll snap at her.  How he grips the door handle so hard his knuckles turn white and he keeps his feet pressed into the floor and his back and head pressed into the seat, like he's bracing himself for impact. 

"Do you avoid having your mother drive you places?"

"Yeah."  Hence why he rides his bike to therapy, and to school, because he doesn't want to know if he feels that awful riding the school bus.  He hasn't gone on any long car trips since the _anniversary_.  Only trips to the hospital, to see a specialist in the city, to his physical therapy appointments.  The longest car ride was last Thanksgiving, to see his grandparents.  Now he remembered how when they got there, he'd gone into the bathroom to throw up and spent the whole meal lying on the couch watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. 

"Can you think of anything else that triggers you?  Anything at school, maybe?"

“How about every time I look in a fucking mirror?”  Now he had to pull his fist out of his pocket and grind it into his eye socket. 

“Your scars trigger you?”

“It’s just... it’s like... everything, you know?”  He was crying now.  _Great_.  “Every time I have to remember I don’t have two fucking hands.  I can’t even look in the bathroom mirror.  It’s bad enough when I’m just brushing my teeth or whatever.  Naked... I can’t... It’s like, I see my arm isn’t there and then I have to think about _why_ it isn’t there and on top of that I’m just disgusting, I hate what I look like and I can’t imagine anyone ever liking how I look now.”

He suddenly remembered that in his dream, he had two arms.  Steve had been sitting on his left side, both of their arms touching.

“And even if I thought someone did like me, then I have to wonder what their deal is that they would be cool with dating somebody with one fucking arm.  Like, how fucking damaged do you have to be to want that?”

Dr. Hill was quiet for a moment, which made his own sniffling that much more unbearable.  “You don’t think anyone could like you for who you are, outside of what you look like?”

***

Earlier, in the waiting room, James had been thinking about asking Steve if he needed a ride home again.  Earlier, it had seemed almost imperative that he ask, to take that opportunity to have Steve’s arms latched around his chest, just to see how it felt again.

But he hurried out of the office before Steve was done with his appointment, so that he could get his bike unlocked – without falling over this time – and be ready to roll when Steve walked out, looking about like James felt. 

“See you around seven?” he asked.

Steve nodded.  “Yeah.”

James pushed off, then called out his shoulder, “My address is 3 Adams Street,” before booking it home.


	10. Chapter 10

When the doorbell rang, his mother rushed to answer it. 

"Mom!" James complained.  She stopped.  If James hadn't been struggling with the full trash bin at the time, he would have gone.  "Be cool, Mom.  _God_."

"I _am_ cool," she said haughtily, then rushed to open the door.

"Hello, Steven."

Gritting his teeth, he watched his mom immediately throw her arms around Steve.  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry about your mother.  How are you holding up?"

Over her shoulder, Steve made eye contact with James.  James was baring his teeth at his mother's back.  He stopped and mouthed, _Sorry_.

He managed to tie a knot with one hand – a feat that, when he'd first started physical therapy, had seemed impossible.  Then he hauled the trash bag toward the garage.  When he returned, his mom was still hugging Steve, and Steve wasn't making any motion to end the hug on his own.  The guy even had his eyes closed.  James decided it had gone on long enough.  "You can let him go now, Mom." 

"I told Bucky you two could have the run of the living room.  I have a television in my bedroom I never use, ha ha, and you do not want to spend more time than you have to in his room.  Ha ha."

Steve made some reply with a "ma'am" tacked on the end and James rolled his eyes and shoved at his mother.

"Okay, Mom, we're going to get started then."

“Let me know if you need anything, honey."

"I think we can manage," James muttered.  Finally his mother made her way upstairs.

He had already pulled out his stupid pack of markers and they sat there, lonely, on the cleared-off coffee table.  "Is this okay?" he asked.  "We can work in the kitchen if that's easier.  I just figured maybe we could watch TV or a movie or something while we're working."

"Okay," said Steve, not really answering James's question, but since Steve headed into the living room, James figured that was answer enough.

"Any requests?" James picked up the remote and turned on the TV.  Sound blared from the speakers and he punched at the volume button.  "Geez, Mom," he muttered.

"Um, whatever you want."  Steve sat down on the couch and opened his backpack.  He had a nice cardboard portfolio, and he pulled out a sheaf of pages. 

James knelt down and opened the cabinet under the TV.  "You like action movies?  Horror?"  With no immediate response, James looked back over his shoulder.  "Rom-coms?"

"Sure," said Steve.  James stared at him for a minute, wondering if Steve was serious.  Steve was sorting through his pages. 

Turning back to the cabinet, he decided to make Steve really uncomfortable.  He pulled out _Brokeback Mountain_ , a movie his mom had bought for him when he came out to her.  Now that had been an uncomfortable moment.  Luckily she hadn't put it on during Family Movie Night.  He popped it in the player.

Noticing that Steve had sorted some inked pages on top of the markers, James asked, "So these pages are ready for coloring?"  James crawled over to the table on his knees.  Then he really looked at the pages.  "Wow, you're really good.  Do you take art classes or something?" 

Sharon had said Steve was good at art, but James liked to read comics and this was just as good as those. 

"Nah.  I just do it for fun."

"You should.  Take an art class.  I mean, you're really good." 

Steve shrugged. 

The indifference sparked something in him.  "You think art kids are losers, is that it?"

Steve's eyebrows lifted in surprise.  "No."

"Then what's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," said Steve quietly.  "I just..."  That was when Steve caught what movie James had put on, and after staring dumbly at the screen for a second, he blushed and averted his eyes down to his papers.  "It's just for fun," he repeated.

James stopped talking.  He felt terrible for what he was doing, like being mean was just how he was.  Like he couldn't stop being mean, even though... he liked Steve.  Steve was nice.  James wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone as nice as Steve. 

Pulling out a marker, he went to start coloring, then stopped.  "I feel like I'm gonna wreck this if I color it," he said through a tight throat.

"It's fine," Steve said.

"It isn't fine!  In case you haven't noticed, everyone thinks I'm a fuck-up." 

"I don't."

"Why are you so nice to me?" James blurted out. 

"I'm nice to everyone."  Steve finally looked at him.  That gaze was so powerful James almost wanted to look away... but he couldn't.  Steve's eyes were so sad James knew that if he could never have said any of those mean things if Steve had been looking at him.  "Sometimes... I wish I could be mean."

James blinked.  "What?"

With a sigh, Steve said, "I feel like if I were to say how I really felt, people wouldn't like me."

"Christ, we already had therapy today," James said.

"See?"  Steve looked almost happy.  "That's what I mean.  I can never just say something like that.  I don't know... I just want people to like me."

"You're, like, the most popular guy in school."  James shifted off his knees, they already hurt.  In doing so, his foot bumped into Steve's foot.  "Fuck it.  I don't know why I'm sitting on the floor anyway."  He heaved himself up and plopped himself onto the couch.  Now their knees touched, but James didn't pull away.  He saw Steve looking down at the point of contact.  "I guess that kind of makes sense.  Doesn't explain how Bruce Banner is so popular.  He's not the nicest guy in the world."

"Bruce is nice," Steve countered.  "He's got a temper, but the rest of the time he's nice.  Kind of shy, even."

"Shy?"  James would never have put Bruce and shy together in a sentence.  "Come on.  Bruce is a dick."

"He isn't, though."  Turning a little, Steve sat up and looked over at James.  "You don't even know him."

"I don't have to know him.  He's an asshole."

"So are _you_ , sometimes."

***

Steve froze, shocked at the words that he had just uttered.  He couldn't believe he'd said it.  He held his breath, hoping Bucky wouldn't kick him out or anything.

Instead of the anger Steve expected, Bucky instead broke into a smile.  "There.  See?  You can be mean sometimes," he said, like he was proud of Steve.

Burying his face in his hands, he moaned, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to."

"Stop, you're ruining it."  Bucky grinned and bumped his shoulder up against Steve's. 

Both of them froze.

A million thoughts crowded into Steve's head.  Did Bucky like him?  Was it like what they told girls, that if a boy pulled her hair he liked her?  No, Bucky was mean to everyone.  But Steve had never seen Bucky smile.  Was he reading too much into this?  He was too hot.  Bucky's knee was still touching his, and his elbow.  He couldn't breathe.

Bucky's smile had faded away and he cleared his throat.  "Sorry, was that too gay for you?" Bucky's lips twisted into a sneer as he made to move over.

"No," Steve said, and Bucky stopped.  Looked back over at Steve.

"No?"

"Bucky, I'm--"  Steve had to force the words out.  "Gay."

"Oh," Bucky said.  No trace of sarcasm.  "I didn't know that."

"No one does."  His chest felt tight.  "Did. Until now."

"I'm the first person you ever came out to?"  Bucky sounded incredulous. 

Steve could only nod.

"Well... why..." Bucky shook his head.  "Aren't you friends with Teddy Altman?  Why didn't you come out to him?"

"I'm not that close to him."  It was as good an answer as any.  "I don't know.  It's stupid, to keep it a secret."

"You know Sharon's, like, in love with you, right?  Why... I mean, God, Steve.  What about your buddy Thor?"

Steve just shook his head.

"Well, shit."  Bucky stared at the television, shoulders a bit slumped.  Steve was thankful it wasn't the tent scene.  He'd never told anyone, not even his mom, but he'd watched _Brokeback Mountain_ back when he first thought he was gay, found a bootleg copy on the internet somewhere.  He wondered if Bucky had put this movie on as some kind of signal.  "I mean, thanks."

"Thanks?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Yeah.  I mean, it's a scary thing to come out.  I guess I didn't realize you trusted me that much."

Now the enormity of what he'd just done crashed down around him.  "Oh." He hadn't thought about trust.  He only knew that he liked Bucky and wanted Bucky to know he was gay.  Not that he was ready to come out or anything, or what would happen if Bucky got mean and decided to throw that in his face, or tell someone at school.  "Oh."

"So, um, I guess we should get to work, then, huh?" Bucky said, and slid off the couch to kneel on the floor. 

***

James picked up a blue marker and decided he could color the sky parts in, at least, without ruining anything.  The shock of the whole thing had thrown him off.  Why would Steve tell him something like that?  The stirring between his legs knew.  Steve liked him.  It would explain a lot.  A hot ball burned inside his chest. 

Beside him, Steve bent over his penciled drawings and started going over the lines with a Sharpie. 

After all that, they worked in silence for a while.  They had a lot to think about. 

James couldn't help but get a little bit sucked into the movie, and he noticed Steve doing the same.  He also noticed Steve's intense focus when he was drawing.  So intense, the big guy probably didn't even notice how his tongue was poking out of his mouth.  It was adorable.

When he had finished two full pages of coloring, he got up. That was a process, because one of his legs had fallen asleep, and he leaned back on the couch so he didn't bump the table and mess Steve up – which didn't end up mattering, because Steve noticed and stopped drawing and reached out a hand to push James upright.  "Heh, thanks," James said.  He sounded about as awkward as his mom did earlier.  He shook his leg so that pins and needles crawled up it.  "Uh, you want a snack?"

"Sure," Steve said.

"Popcorn good?"

"Yeah, that sounds great."  Steve smiled at him, and James found himself blushing.  _Oh god_.  He hurried into the kitchen just to get away.

Waiting for the bag to pop gave him a chance to calm down.  What was he doing?  Steve couldn't like him.  Not _that way_.  It was impossible.  Here James could barely look at himself in a mirror; he didn't know how Steve could look at him and like what he saw.  Yet somehow it felt obvious, both in the way his body was reacting and the way Steve was sneaking glances at him exactly like James was sneaking glances at Steve, how Steve knew he was gay and had just come out to him, how both of them noticed every small time their bodies touched...

He rubbed his face, and got out two glasses.  His mother had sworn off soda a long time ago, so all they had was water and some green juice that actually tasted pretty good, but James wasn't going to serve Steve some weird green juice.  Water with lemon.  He brought out a glass for Steve and set it down away from the papers. 

"Thanks," Steve said with a big smile.  James smiled back a little; he couldn't help it.  But then he ducked his head and went back to the kitchen for his own glass and the popcorn, which he dumped into a bowl and carried in the crook of his elbow so he could carry his glass at the same time.

"Do you need help?" Steve asked, jumping up.  "I'm sorry, I should have thought--"

"I'm fine."  James carefully squatted a little to put down the bowl before standing up and setting his glass down. 

He was going to make a move, he decided, watching Steve sit back down.  He'd find out if Steve was interested in him.  Probably he'd scare Steve off, but it was better to know.  To have a definitive answer.

So when he sat down, he sat so close to Steve they were touching.  The length of their thighs, and their upper arms.  Steve started a little, but he just blushed and gave James a nervous smile as James took the bowl of popcorn and settled back into the couch.  Looked at Steve.  Steve looked at him.  Still smiling.

Then Steve pushed back, and now they were both sitting side by side on the couch, and Steve's hand was reaching into the popcorn bowl that was on James's lap, and James realized it was a good thing he had the bowl in his lap because _damn_.

Steve liked him _that way_.


	11. Chapter 11

"Whoa.  You're smiling."

James jumped a little as Kate sat down at his lonely lunch table.  Today she was wearing a purple dress with a little black cardigan and a purple headband.  She had a lunch packed up in an insulated lunch bag, and started unloading a series of little square Tupperware containers.

"No I'm not," James said, scowling at her.  Without Clint at lunch, James had been happy to stare across the cafeteria, waiting for Steve to look at him.  It had happened once yesterday, and he'd been lucky Clint was already asleep on the table because James had found himself blushing and grinning like an idiot.  He had basically hid behind his book for the rest of lunch, afraid for it to happen again.

"You _were_."  Inside of one of the Tupperwares was a neat row of sushi.  Kate removed a pair of chopsticks from her bag and popped a sushi roll into her mouth.  Then she noticed James staring.  "What?" she asked when she had swallowed. 

"I've never seen anyone bring sushi in for lunch," he said.

"Have you ever tried it?"

"Yeah.  My mom took a class and she makes it sometimes."

"Really?  That’s cool.  I learned off Youtube."

James wasn't sure what else to say, so he glanced back over at the football players' table.  Steve hadn't looked up yet.  They all seemed to be having quite the lively conversation.

"Don't tell me you're hung up on Natasha, too," Kate said.

"No."  The answer came out harsh.  Then James stopped.  "Wait--"

"Yeah, I know Clint likes her."  Kate poked at her sushi.  Then she snapped, "But she has a boyfriend!  Geez."

"I know," James said sympathetically.  "I told him the same thing."

"And what did he say?" Kate asked.

What, was he supposed to tell her Clint thought she was annoying?  He shrugged.  "He still thinks he has a shot with her."

"Ugh.  Boys."

James shrugged and looked back over at Steve.  He wished Steve would just look at him.  Even if he could catch Steve in the act of looking away. 

He supposed it wasn't fair to expect Steve to want to walk around school holding hands or whatever.  Neither of them had even admitted anything out loud the other night.  But James couldn't imagine that Steve didn't feel the same way.  It was like an electric wire between them whenever they looked at each other.

So why wasn't Steve looking at him?

***

"We're going as Bonnie and Clyde," Sharon told everyone at lunch.

"I didn't know you were back together," Thor said, looking slightly betrayed that his buddy Steve hadn't mentioned it.  Steve had tried to signal to him that they _weren't_ back together without saying it out loud, by giving him a tight smile and a minute shake of his head, but Thor wasn't one to pick up on subtleties.  He'd have to talk to Thor later.  And all the other guys.

"Our costumes will be the best," Tony announced to the table.  Pepper rolled her eyes.  "Top secret, though.  And obviously we won't be eligible for the costume contest.  Yes, there will be a prize for the best costume.  Or costumes.  I'm the only judge, so keep that in mind."

"I hope I'll have some say in who wins," Pepper said indignantly.

"Of course."  Tony kissed the tip of her nose.

Steve had to physically restrain himself from looking over at Bucky.  Bucky almost always sat by himself, and it only made Steve want to look over more, maybe hoping someone else would sit with him so he wouldn't be lonely.  What would Steve's friends do if he joined Bucky at lunch one day?  He couldn't even imagine.

Yesterday, when he'd looked over at Bucky, he had blushed, and Tony thought he had blushed because of some crude joke he had made, and for the rest of the day they all razzed him.  "You'd better watch your language around Mr. Rogers," and "Steve's virgin ears" and on and on until Steve wasn't sure he could smile and laugh along anymore.  He didn't want a replay of that.  So, he avoided looked at Bucky until the end of lunch, when the bell rang and everyone was standing up and gathering up their things and he could safely look over there. 

Bucky was sitting with a girl.  A cute girl, too.  Suddenly Steve worried that Bucky wasn't gay.  Even though he knew Bucky was gay.  Maybe Bucky was bisexual.  And here Steve had come out to Bucky, and he had thought they'd shared something the other night at Bucky's house...

Maybe he was reading too much into things.  He didn't know the girl. 

There wasn't really any other way to interpret Bucky's actions Tuesday night.  He'd practically sat down in Steve's lap, looked at him with those gray-blue eyes.  Steve felt himself getting goosebumps just thinking about the way his arm had pressed up against Bucky's.  He wanted it to be like Tony was with Pepper, just kissing her nose, so cute – but he also worried that Bucky wouldn't want him to do something like that.  Like Bucky was a coiled snake and if he moved too fast, Bucky would strike out at _him_.

He liked when Bucky was nice to him. 

Just that thought made him blush a little, and then he was heading into English class and there was Bucky, glaring at him like usual. 

What had he done wrong?

He tried to smile at Bucky, but it felt like something was caught in his throat and he couldn't do much more than twitch his cheek a little.  So he cleared his throat and said, "Hi."

Bucky had already shoved his way into the classroom.  The recipient of his greeting turned out to be Jane Foster, who looked a bit perplexed as she smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.  "Hi," she said.

Sharon tugged at his shirt and when he turned to look at her, she gave him a "What the hell are you doing?" look.  He shrugged and tried to look sheepish.

He was pathetic, he concluded as he took his seat.  He needed to tell Bucky flat out how he felt.  That way if Bucky was still mean to him, then Steve would know Bucky didn’t like him back.  He supposed, if it had been anyone else, if Bucky was, say, Sharon, Steve wouldn’t have had any problems.  It would have been normal for Steve to flirt with Sharon.  To make sure to sit beside her in class.  To hold her hand in front of everyone. 

It wasn’t just that he was afraid of people finding out he was gay.  It was that Bucky wasn’t a part of his group of friends.  Bucky seemed to hate Steve’s group of friends.  Steve wondered if Bucky would ever get over his hatred for Bruce.  Steve knew Bruce had said some mean stuff... but then, Bucky could be pretty mean, too.

Steve could tell that Bucky wasn't a cruel person inside – kind of like Bruce.  Bucky's face, at that eighth grade dance, had looked so happy.  It must be hard to lose so much so fast. 

As class went on around him, Steve made a decision: he would flat out tell Bucky how he felt.  Maybe that would make Bucky smile like he did the other night.

***

James arrived in the waiting room a little late.  Stupidly, he had spent most of his time after school thinking about changing his clothes, because he had spilled something on his t-shirt in chemistry and it smelled funny.  That made him think about Steve and wanting to wear something nice.  All he had were t-shirts.  They were easier to put on than a long sleeve shirt, but it was chilly outside so he thought maybe he could wear one of the thermal shirts his mom had bought him at the end of last year.  A gray one.  But then he ended up putting his sweatshirt on over it, so it didn't even matter. 

Then he started fussing around with his hair.

At the end of English class, Steve had stopped him with the lightest of touches on his arm.  "Hey," Steve had said.

James had waited, then finally said, "Yeah?"  It might have come out a little sharp.  He was kind of annoyed that Steve hadn't even looked him once during lunch.  Like, would a little eye contact kill him?  It certainly wasn't going to make all his friends suddenly aware that he was gay.

"Uh, you wanna work on the project tonight again?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," James said quickly.  So quickly he wanted to smack himself for being so obvious. "My house again?  After...?"

"Yeah," said Steve, and then Steve had turned and walked away.  Sharon, with her stinky cheese face, watched the whole time.  Ugh.

Anyway, it meant that he was late getting to therapy and now, as he sat down – one seat closer than usual – he saw that Steve looked nervous.  Really nervous.  Rubbing his palms on his knees.  Glancing at the clock.  Looking at James and smiling then not smiling and looking away.

"Hey," James said.  Then, because something seemed to be up, he added, "What's up?"

"Uh.  Um."  Steve's knee bounced.  "I, uh, have something I want to tell you."

_Oh shit._   James steeled himself.  Tuesday night had been too good to be true, then.  He'd been too forward and scared Steve off.  That would explain Steve's behavior in the cafeteria.  Maybe, after thinking about it, Steve had realized that it wouldn't be so awesome to be dating the kid with one arm.  James ground his teeth together and waited for Steve to spit it out.

"I, uh.  I...  Bucky, I--"

"Steven?  I'm ready for you," said Dr. Fury, strolling into the waiting room.

Steve jumped up.  "Yes, sir."  Then, with a panicked and somewhat relieved look, he said to James, "Um, I'll tell you after."

"Sure," said James.  

When Steve was gone he let himself deflate.  Tonight was going to suck if Steve straight up told him he didn't feel the same way. 

Dr. Hill called him in a minute later.  James dragged himself in and flung himself into the chair.  After a moment of silence, she said, “You look like you have something on your mind.”

“No,” James said.

“Okay, then, perhaps today we can have that long-awaited discussion of the eulogy you wrote.”

James frowned, and chewed on the inside of his cheek while Dr. Hill pulled out some familiar-looking papers.  “I guess... I have something...”

Dr. Hill raised an eyebrow.

“Kind of related to what we talked about last time.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Okay... well, I like this kid at school.  And I think he likes me.  Or I thought he did.  I don’t know.  I can’t tell.”  He scraped at something on his jeans.  Gross, was that mustard?  When was the last time he ate something with mustard?

“Have you told this boy how you feel?”

James couldn’t remember if he had ever told Dr. Hill that he was gay.  If not, kudos to her for picking up on it.  “Not really.”

“Why not?”

He heaved a sigh.  “He’s, like, really popular at school.  I just don’t know what he would see in me.  Never mind—”  He gestured toward the empty space where his left arm should be.

“What do you see in him?”

That wasn’t a question he expected.  Dr. Hill had a way of doing that.  “I don’t know.  I mean, he’s attractive.  That’s not really why I like him.  I guess... at first I thought he was one way but he’s really nice and kind of awkward and...”  He shrugged instead of saying what he wanted to say: that he just wanted to give Steve a big hug.

***

Steve only had to wait a little bit for Bucky to come out of Dr. Hill’s office.  He waited in the hallway, though, so the receptionist wouldn’t think he was weird.  “Hi, Bucky,” he said as soon as Bucky walked out.

Bucky jumped, and Steve started apologizing.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.  I was just waiting for you.  Do you want to come over to my house right now to work on the project?  We could stop at your house and get your markers.  I have colored pencils if you want to use those.  We can walk together?”

A long moment passed as they waited for the elevator and Bucky stared at him.  “Uh, yeah.  Okay.  Let me text my mom.”

In the elevator, Steve rocked back and forth on his feet while Bucky focused on his phone.  Then Bucky put his phone away and ran his hand through his hair.  “My mom said she made a lasagna for you.  She said if we stop by we can pick it up and eat that tonight.”

“Sounds good.”  Steve hoped it tasted better than most of the other food the people from church brought by.  Not that he could really taste anything most of the time anyway.  He swallowed, and stared at the digital number counting down to the ground floor.  He didn’t want to tell Bucky in the elevator.

Outside, Bucky unlocked his bike while Steve stood nearby.  “You want a ride?” Bucky asked.

“Can we just... walk?” Steve felt stupid for asking. 

“Okay.”  Bucky gave him a sidelong glance, and Steve had to look away and take a deep breath.  Why was this so hard?

He ran over the words in his head.  It seemed so simple, so just say it, but for some reason he couldn’t make his mouth work.  Walking helped a little.  Until Bucky said, “So, you said you had something to tell me.  Was that it?  About going over your house after therapy?”

“Uh, no.  There’s something else.  I...”  Steve stopped, and then Bucky stopped and looked back at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.  Bucky,” Steve took a deep breath.  “Bucky, I like you.”

Cars passed them while they stood on the sidewalk.  A lot of cars.  There was the rush of wind as they raced by and that roaring in his ears and Bucky staring at him, but he didn’t look mad, so that was good right?  Bucky’s face was frozen in an expression that could quickly turn into his usual frown.

So slowly, Steve almost didn’t catch it, Bucky’s lips softened into a ghost of a smile, and his eyes crinkled up a bit.  There were two bright spots of red on Bucky’s cheeks that might be from the October chill.

Bucky looked down at the pavement.  “I like you, too,” he said, and he was grinning.


	12. Chapter 12

James couldn't stop smiling.  The only damper was that he had to hold his bike up with his one hand, so he couldn't hold Steve's hand as they walked.  That was okay, though. 

When they got to his house, James could ditch the bike, but then his hands were full of lasagna and he had his bag, too.  "Now I just made this," his mom said, placing the lasagna pan, in a quilted holder, into James's arm.  "It's spinach lasagna.  Meatless.  But spinach has plenty of protein, don't you worry about that!  You boys want some bread to go with it?  Here, let me cut you up some bread." 

James saw the way his mother kept looking from him to Steve and back.  He tried to bite back on his smile.  It was almost impossible.  Steve liked him, and they were going to have dinner together.

When they left the house, Steve immediately took the lasagna pan from him.  "I can carry it," James said.

"I want to," said Steve, and fit his free hand into James'. 

All the way to Steve's house, James could only think about how big Steve's hand was, how it gripped his firmly, like he wasn't worried about anyone seeing.  Who would see, really, unless Bruce drove by?  James tried not to grip back too hard, in case Steve needed to pull his hand away.

Steve didn't.

And Steve held his hand like he meant it, like he never wanted to let it go.  It made James feel warm all over, and excited to get to Steve's house.  He wanted to kiss Steve's big stupid face, or at least hug him for a while.  Steve's huge bicep pressed up against his felt like it would give a really good hug.

By the time they got to Steve's house, James's face kind of hurt from all the smiling.  Steve let go of his hand so he could open the door, and James gave the car in the driveway a look.  He hoped it wasn't the same creepy lady who had shown up the other day, when Steve had almost fainted on him.

Then he heard her voice and knew it was.

"Stevie!  I'm glad you're back.  Your mother's been..."  Mrs. Ross broke off and peered at James.  "Oh, hello."

"What's going on with Mom?" Steve asked.  He strode into the house, leaving James standing awkwardly at the door.  Dropping the lasagna on the counter, Steve headed down the hall without waiting for Mrs. Ross.

"Oh--" Mrs. Ross hurried after him.  "She seemed to be having some trouble breathing..."

James felt his heart hammering.  He dumped his bag near the coffee table and edged down the hall.  He didn't want to intrude, but he wanted to know if this was something serious.

"Did you check her oxygen tank?" Steve asked.

Mrs. Ross's hands fluttered around.  James wasn't listening to her anymore.

Mrs. Rogers was in a hospital bed, flanked by machines.  It took James a minute to focus on Mrs. Rogers herself: she was so thin and frail, dwarfed by the colorful afghan on the bed and the machines and the tubes, that she seemed almost to fade into the sheets.  Through the doorway James watched Steve check the tank, and change it out with another tank, and look at the machines and then he looked down at his mother and touched her face. 

Steve spoke so quietly James couldn't even hear him over Mrs. Ross's fretting. 

There was something so gentle and soft in the way Steve talked to his mother that James felt like a voyeur.  When he bumped up against the wall he suddenly realized he had been backing away.  He wanted to give Steve some privacy, and he was about to turn and wait in the living room when Steve looked up. 

"Bucky," he said softly.  "Come meet my mom."

Mrs. Ross was talking about how she had baked some cookies for him and had left a shepherd's pie in the fridge for him to eat and how she'd be back tomorrow.  James walked around her and stepped into the room.

Inside, James could see a bit more of Mrs. Rogers' personality.  The walls were painted bright yellow, and lacy curtains hung over the windows.  A braided rug covered most of the polished hardwood floor.  Books were stacked everywhere, and scrapbooks, and photographs took up any empty space left.  The room smelled like a hospital.  Like what James imagined Death smelled like.

"It's okay," Steve whispered. 

James looked up at him.  He hadn't realized how much he'd been hanging back and avoiding looking at the person in the bed. 

Touching him on the shoulder, since James was coming around the bed and his left shoulder was the nearest, Steve turned to his mother.  "Mom, this is Bucky.  The boy I told you about."

Now James had to look at Mrs. Rogers.  She had only a few wisps of hair poking out from under a brightly patterned scarf, and her eyes were warm and brown in her pale face.  James felt like she was smiling, though her face didn't move. 

"Hi, Bucky."  Her lips formed the words, but if there was a voice behind them, he couldn't hear it.

"Nice to meet you," James said.  He didn't know what else to say.  He didn't know what Steve had told her.  By his choice of words, James figured Steve had told her how he felt, which made him feel warm all over again.

"Um, I'm just going to sit with her for a while, to make sure she's breathing okay?" Steve said.  "If you want to go home, I don't mind."

"How about I heat up the lasagna?" James said.  He didn't want to go home.  Even though this all felt really weird, and he was already backing out of the room.

He found himself in the kitchen, looking through unfamiliar cabinets until he located plates, and glasses, and forks, and he figured out the oven and stuck the lasagna inside.  It was still pretty warm, but he didn't know how long Steve might be.  At least it wasn't serious.  He hated that the thought even entered his mind: it looked serious.  It looked like Mrs. Rogers had only days or weeks left.  He gripped the edge of the counter and swallowed hard. 

***

When Steve left his mom, now sleeping again and breathing normally, he found Bucky staring out the window over the sink.  He touched Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky flinched against the counter.

“Sorry.”  Bucky raked his hand through his hair.  “Uh, the lasagna should be ready.  I also warmed up the bread.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and he slipped on some oven mitts to pull the glass pan out of the oven.  Bucky was quiet as he sat down, and Steve thought he knew why.  “So, that’s my mom.”

Bucky cleared his throat.  “I... didn’t expect... that she was so... sick.”

“Yeah.”  Steve slopped some of the pasta onto his plate, then served Bucky, who held his fork and didn’t start eating.

“Are you worried?” Bucky asked. 

Steve didn’t answer for a while.  He just pushed food into his mouth.  Mrs. Barnes was a better cook than most of the church ladies – of course, this was fresh, and not frozen. 

"I mean, about after."

Swallowing, Steve almost just nodded.  That wasn't a fair answer.  Maybe for one of the church ladies, or for Sharon.  But not for Bucky.  "Yeah," he said, and with that word he felt his face start to do that thing that meant he was going to cry. 

He didn't want to do this.  Not today.  Why had he agreed for Bucky to come over?  He knew why.  He had wanted Bucky to help keep Mrs. Ross from being so handsy.  He had wanted his mom to meet Bucky, at least once.  He had wanted to share this part of his life with someone who might understand.  Bucky had lost a parent, too. 

Still, he didn't want to cry.  So he set down his fork and put his knuckles in his eyes and willed the tears away. 

He wasn't ready to pull his fists away when he heard Bucky's chair scrape back.  His knuckles were wet.  And he definitely wasn't ready when Bucky threaded his arm into the space between his neck and his arms and wrapped around.  It startled him enough to pull his hands away.  Bucky couldn't just put his arm around Steve's shoulders: it was the wrong direction, and Bucky's didn't have an arm on that side.  Bucky pushed his way in, and it was so easy to wrap his arms around Bucky.  The only problem was that now he had no way to push the tears back in, and they all came out in a gasping rush.

It felt good to let it out.  He hadn't, not in Dr. Fury's office, not even when he was alone in his room.  He held Bucky's imperfect body against his and it made him know both that there were worse things than his mother dying, and that he could survive this. 

He _could_ survive this.  So often his thoughts turned to stopping the pain, of letting his mother go and then letting himself go, but here was Bucky in his arms and he wanted this, _this_ , and he gripped Bucky so tight that Bucky couldn't stay standing up.  He tried, but then Bucky was easing into his lap and curling his arm tight around Steve's neck, and that was one more reason to keep on going.


	13. Chapter 13

"So you don't even know where your dad is?" James asked.

Steve shook his head.  They were working now, quiet, Steve looking like he felt better despite his puffy eyes.  "He left my mom a long time ago.  Never paid child support.  So even if he is out there somewhere, I'm not sure I really want him in my life."

"What other choice do you have?  Grandparents?"

Another head shake.  James wondered briefly if his mother would be willing to take Steve in.  He immediately discarded the thought.  That would be weird.  Especially if he and Steve were still dating.  Worse if they _weren't_.

"So a foster family then."

Finally, a nod. 

"At least it won't be for long, right?  Just a year or two, then you'll be out of high school and in college and you can live on your own."

"If I can get enough money for college.  If I can get a job and make enough to live on my own."

James didn't know what to say.  The future seemed so uncertain.  "You're smart.  You'll get a scholarship."

"Maybe."

In the nearly silent house, with only the wheezing of machines to fill the space, James stopped coloring and looked at Steve.  He knew if he were Steve, after a day filled with therapy and telling someone he liked them and a minor emergency with his mother and breaking down crying in front of a guy he liked, James would have been ready to talk about something else.  Anything else.  He would have been putting on a stupid movie and maybe calling Clint over (hoping he'd have something to smoke) and they'd talk about stupid shit that didn’t matter for hours.  Or they'd play video games and eat Cheetos and they only words they would speak would be through a headset to everyone else in the game.

"Halloween's this weekend," James said.  "What's your costume?"

Steve sighed.  This was never James's reaction to Halloween.  "Sharon wants me to go to a party at Tony's with her.  Bonnie and Clyde."

"Ew," James said.

With a shrug, Steve added, "She's got the whole thing planned.  I didn't even have to do anything."

James wasn't sure what to say.  Steve had told him that he liked him, but he was still going to a Halloween party as half of a couples costume.

"Well, I'm planning to go as the one-armed man from The Fugitive.  It was a huge hit last year with the trick-or-treaters."  Immediately James felt bad for saying that, and he added hesitantly, "If you wanted an excuse not to go to the party, you could come over to my house and watch horror movies and pass out candy."

"Sharon already told everyone."

"So?  She's not your girlfriend."

Steve didn't say anything to that.  He had stopped drawing and stared at the page.

"And I guess I'm not, like, your _boyfriend_ , either."

"Bucky..."

"I mean, you said you liked me.  What does that mean, exactly?  Are we dating?  Or am I just your secret special _friend_?"

After staring at his papers for a long minute, Steve stood up and pushed his chair away from the table.  "I can't deal with this right now."

James watched him walk down the hall and into a room that wasn't his mother's.  So Steve was just going to avoid the whole thing?  Leave his guest here while he hid in his room? 

He should give Steve some space.  He supposed, as he stood to put his markers away and gather up the finished pages, that he shouldn't have expected so much.  Steve was still in the closet.  His pushy ex-girlfriend had a whole thing planned, and to get out of that Steve would have to tell her, and all his friends, why he wouldn't be at the party.  Steve hadn't even told them about his mom. 

When he finished picking up the stuff on the table, he went to get his bag to leave.

***

On autopilot, Steve entered his room and sat on his bed and sat there.  He felt numb.  It was all too much and it was looming over him like a tsunami, waiting to crash down around it, and all he could do was sit here.

It was funny, though, when he thought about it.  If any of his friends had come out as gay, he would be the first to support them, and to confront anyone who tried to make fun of them.  If he had overheard Sharon making fun of someone for being gay, he would stand up to her.  So why couldn't he do that for himself? 

It would be nice if there was someone to stand up for him.  He'd always had his mom to do that.  And now...

When he heard the front door open, he knew he had to act.

***

"Don't go."

James turned.  Steve stood in the hallway, his eyes pleading.  Then Steve approached him and wrapped him up in those arms.

"I'm sorry," Steve said into James's hair.  It felt nice, and James closed his eyes.  "I wish I could do the whole coming out thing right now.  I just... can't.  I can't do it now.  I don't want you to leave but I guess... I guess I understand if you don't want to wait for me to be ready." 

A sob hitched against James's chest. 

James squeezed back as much as he could.  "I'm in no rush."

***

It was a long time before Steve let Bucky go.  A long time.  Made longer by how much he wanted to hold onto this moment.  He'd almost expected some harsh response from Bucky.  Why should Bucky have to wait for Steve to get his life together?  But the fact that Bucky was willing to wait made Steve's chest hurt, in a good way. 

And then Bucky started moving his hand up and down Steve's back, and Steve had his nose right in Bucky's sweatshirt and his cheek up against Bucky's neck and Steve wanted to just kiss him, to see what that smooth skin felt like on his lips.

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

He didn't know what it was, exactly.  Maybe somewhere deep inside, Steve still hoped he wasn't gay, and actually kissing a boy would prove that he was.  Maybe he just wanted his first kiss to be face-to-face, in the sun, when he and Bucky were both smiling, so that he could look back and remember it as something good rather than something he sought out for comfort.  It didn't seem fair to Bucky to kiss him when he couldn't even admit that he wanted Bucky to be his boyfriend.

So reluctantly he restrained himself, even though he hugged Bucky for a long, long time, and then, he released him and stepped back and wiped at his eyes. 

"Thanks," he said.

Bucky looked at him steadily.  "No problem."  He turned to leave again, then looked back.  "You're okay?"

"Yeah," Steve said, and finally he was able to smile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, I had a bit of writer's block this past week. But... this is a longer chapter than the past few, so maybe that makes up for it?

"Yasha!"

James's head snapped up.  There was only one person who called him that.  And given that he was walking home from school and the voice was coming from the road, he knew she wasn't alone.

Damn Bruce's convertible, engine purring so quiet James hadn't heard it behind the music emitting from his headphones.  Damn being late this morning, which meant his mom had to give him a ride to school, and he didn’t have his bike to ride home.  His stomach hardened into a little knot as he turned around.  Only for Natasha he turned around. 

"Yasha, I am very glad we see you there," Nat said.  Her face was flushed from driving around in a convertible in October, despite her thick knitted scarf.  Bruce wasn't even looking at him.  James narrowed his eyes.  "Brock has a thing to say to you.  Hello?  Brock?"  She turned in her seat.  Then punched between the two front seats to wake up the dark-haired boy slouched in the back between Teddy Altman and the blond football god known as Thor.

"Ow.  Sorry," Brock mumbled.

"Is this how American people apologize?" Natasha said.

James watched all this, feeling clueless, until Brock's face clicked in his mind.  Brock was a sophomore, and he sort of blended in with all the other dumb jock faces in James's mind, so he hadn't immediately realized that Brock Rumlow was the dickhead who had called him Edward Scissorhands a couple of weeks ago.  When he understood what Natasha was doing, he wished he could curl up inside his sweatshirt and die.

"You tell him good apology," Natasha ordered, with an added phrase in Russian that no one understood except James, because during the few weeks they had sat together at lunch freshman year, she had taught him a number of Russian swears.

"I'm sorry I called you names," Brock said, louder, his eyes flickering over for Nat's approval. 

"Yes, yes, he is sorry."  Natasha turned around and looked at James.  "So, in apology, we will like you to come to party tonight."

"A party?" The apology was bad enough.  "No, no, that's okay."  He started backing up.

"Yes.  You come to party.  Also Clintbarton."  That was how Nat had always said Clint's name: like it was one word.  _Clintbarton_.  "You will come.  Is costume party.  You have costume?"  When Natasha made up her mind, she would never back down, James remembered. _Great_.

 _What would they do if I showed up dressed like Edward Scissorhands?_ he wondered.  Then he thought of Clint, and how Clint would kill him if he found out they had been invited to a party by Natasha and he had refused.  Then there was Bruce's disinterested face hovering there behind Natasha's.  James wouldn't mind going just to spite Bruce. 

And then there was Steve.  Steve would be there.  Sure, he'd be there "with Sharon" but if James could maybe sneak upstairs, and Steve could meet him...

"I can come up with a costume," James said.

"Good, good.  I am very happy, Yasha.  You will like a ride to there?"

"Where is it?" he asked, even though he knew.

Now Bruce finally spoke.  "It's at Tony Stark's."

Part of him wanted to make Bruce give him a ride, even though he'd rather swallow nails.  "I'll find a ride," James said finally.

"I will look for you,” Natasha said, smiling, just before Bruce gunned the engine and the convertible roared off down the road.

“Fuck,” James said.

***

“You always look so good in a suit,” Sharon was saying.  Steve wished that somehow the floor would swallow him.  Sharon had arrived to pick him up in a full-on flapper costume, gold beaded fringe everywhere and her hair done up in a bob.  Pretty sure that Bonnie and Clyde weren’t flappers, Steve looked at his reflection in the mirror doubtfully.  He looked like Al Capone or something, especially with the stupid fedora Sharon insisted “made the costume.”

“So dapper,” said Mrs. Ross. 

“The night nurse will be here soon,” Steve told her.  He’d been trying to get the woman to go home for over an hour now.  “You don’t have to stay.”

“Honestly, you two are adorable.  You want me to take some photos of you that you can post on your Facebooks?”

“Sure!”  Sharon jumped forward and handed over her phone. 

It was like every formal dance he’d gone to with Sharon, only with Mrs. Ross taking the photos instead of his mother or Sharon’s parents.  Somehow, it felt like he'd never broken up with her, and it bothered him.

A life where he could openly date Bucky felt so far away.  Last night, as he imagined Bucky in his arms, he tried to picture it: walking through the school hallways holding hands, sitting together at lunch.  So simple, and yet he couldn't do it.  He couldn't imagine Bucky and his friends in the same world. 

Part of him also like having Bucky be a secret.  Not a secret; just having Bucky all to himself.  No one else _needed_ to know. 

Earlier, in school, he hadn't wanted to ignore Bucky.  So he had greeted Bucky in the halls every time they saw each other.  "You sure are getting chummy with him," Sharon had commented at lunch, after she had witnessed Steve saying hi to Bucky a couple of times already. 

Steve had shrugged.  "We've been getting together to work on the project," he said.  "He's pretty cool underneath all that other stuff."

"Oh, you mean his piss-poor attitude?" Sharon had shot back.  Then she stopped herself.  "I suppose I should try to be nicer to him, after all he's been through."

"I'm sure he would appreciate it."  Maybe he wouldn't, if Sharon was only being nice out of pity. Still, he hoped Sharon would actually follow through. 

"Let's get going," Sharon said, after approving all the photos Mrs. Ross had taken. 

Hadn't Sharon heard a word he had said?  "I have to wait for the night nurse."

"Can't Mrs. Ross do that?"

"I don't mind!" Mrs. Ross called out cheerfully from the kitchen.

“Let me just check on my mom first,” Steve muttered.  He had only just started down the hallway when the phone rang.  He backed up and grabbed it before Mrs. Ross could pick it up. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me.  James.”

Steve couldn’t quite place the male voice on the other end.  “James who?” he asked.

“James... Barnes?”

Even then, it took Steve a couple of seconds to put it all together.  “Oh!” he said, smiling.  “Hi.”

“Hi.  Um, so it looks like I’m going to Tony’s party tonight.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I... It’s just, you didn’t mention it yesterday.”  Now Steve felt like an idiot in his stupid fedora.  Bucky was going to be at the party.  He didn’t know why he had a bad feeling about this, but he did.

“Natasha invited me.”

Steve could practically feel the swell of Sharon’s impatience from the living room.  “Okay.”

“Okay.  Well, I’ll see you there, then.”

“Okay.”

***

James hung up and stared at his reflection in the mirror.  When he had called Steve, he’d thought Steve would be, well, happy that they would see each other at the party.

Of course Clint had been thrilled about the party.  “Dude!  This is the best news!  Natasha really asked for me?  Me specifically?”

Costumes were another story.  James had ransacked his closet and come up with a skeleton costume he’d worn back in eighth grade.  He wasn’t about to wear leggings, but the hoodie still fit, and Clint had promised to bring over some face paint.  “Why do you have face paint?” James asked when Clint arrived and unzipped a pouch full of makeup.  “Is that your mom’s?”

“Naw, it’s mine.”  Clint rummaged around and pulled out tubes of black and white.  “Now hold still.”

The paint felt cold and creamy going on.  James kept his eyes closed.  Somehow he hadn’t really imagined getting his face painted, and now he had to revamp all his fantasies about meeting up with Steve at the party.  _Like that was actually going to happen_.  He just hoped Steve didn’t completely ignore him.  He hoped this wasn’t some _Carrie_ -esque joke of an invite, where he was showing up only to be ridiculed.  He trusted Natasha, even if she barely spoke to him or Clint anymore.

“Done!”

James opened his eyes.  “Whoa,” he said, staring at his reflection.  “Nice.”

“Thanks.  Now it’s my turn.”

“What’s your costume?” James asked.  He looked Clint up and down and figured Clint was some kind of soldier with all the camo.

“A soldier,” Clint said, smearing some green and brown paint on his own face.

“Cool.”

“You think this is too much?”  Clint paused and glanced at James for approval.  “You think Natasha will like this costume?”

“You look very manly,” James said.  It wasn’t the most original costume, but it looked pretty good. 

“Okay, good.”  Clint fussed with his face paint for a few minutes more.  James was glad Clint was so preoccupied with Natasha.  He still hadn’t told Clint about Steve.  Not that Clint would have noticed James was acting funny without Natasha on his mind, but James was glad to be able to sit and think without having to explain anything.

“Does this look stupid with the sleeve?” James asked suddenly.

“Whaddya mean?”  Clint squinted at him.  “It looks the same as you always wear it.  With the sleeve tucked in the pocket.”

“Yeah, but... Does it look stupid?”

Clint furrowed his brow.  “Are you asking if you look stupid every day, or just now?”

“I guess... just now?”

“Well, what else are you gonna do with the sleeve?”

“I could pin it up.  I could pull it inside out.”

“You want it to be super obvious that you don’t have an arm?”

James shrugged.  “I guess I’ll just leave it.”

Clint didn’t say anything for a few minutes.  “Everyone knows you don’t have an arm.  It doesn’t really matter if you leave the sleeve hanging out or if you do whatever else.”

It was really hard to swallow for a second.  “Yeah, you’re right.”  He stared at himself in the mirror.  "I should have gone as Edward Scissorhands.  That would show them."

"I can't believe those assholes would even say that to you."

"Can you imagine their faces if I showed up like that?"

With a little smile, Clint said, "You could totally do it.  Your hair is long enough to spike it up.  Do you still have that leather jacket?"

"My dad's motorcycle jacket?"  James had stolen it from his dad's closet back in middle school and worn it all the time, thinking he looked so cool, even though it had been too big for him.  He hadn't worn it since...  "Yeah, I still have it somewhere."

"Then wash your face off.  New costume."

James didn't move from his seat on the bed.  "I don't think I should.  I don't wanna get beat up."

"You think they'd beat up a disabled person?"

He made a face.  He didn't like being called disabled – neither did Clint, for that matter.  "No... I'm just thinking it might be hard to do anything if I'm holding scissors in my hand all night.  And they invited me as some kind of apology."

Leaning back again James's dresser, Clint said, "It would show them that you can take a joke."

That was a valid point. 

"Also, you'd have a weapon if they did decide to beat you up."

James laughed.  "Okay."

***

Immediately upon arriving at Tony's, Steve headed for the keg. 

All his teammates were there, and they poured him a drink he chugged immediately, while they were pouring another one.  That one he drank slower, while he waited for them to pour a third for Sharon.  "What are you supposed to be?" he asked Thor, who had a red beach towel tied around his neck and held a hammer. 

"Duh.  I'm Thor."

Steve squinted at the carpentry hammer in his friend's hand.  "I'm pretty sure Mjolnir doesn't look like that."

"What?"

"Mjolnir – Thor's hammer.  I'm pretty sure it doesn't look like that."

Already Thor was turning away.  "I'm already too drunk for this much nerdiness."

Steve swallowed down a mouthful of the sour beer and went to find Sharon.  He didn't really need to find Sharon – Sharon would most likely have found her friends already, and usually the girls drank wine or mixed drinks, so she probably wouldn't want the sweating beer in Steve's hand.  But it was the gesture that mattered.  Sharon would remember that at the beginning of the evening Steve had brought her a drink, and she'd probably get so drunk later that it wouldn't matter if he completely deserted her.

Sure enough, Sharon had found her girls.  They were in the dining room.  The shining table, under a crystal chandelier, was covered in liquor bottles and shot glasses.  "Steve!" she said, dragging him over.  Her lips were bright cherry red from whatever concoction she was drinking. 

"Double-fisting already?" asked Liz, who wore a bright red dress with polka dots and her dark hair piled up into a bouffant. 

"Look, see?  I'm Bonnie and he's Clyde!" Sharon clung to Steve's elbow. 

"Watch the beer."  He held out one of the cups to her.  "I brought this for you."

She scrunched up her nose.  "Ew.  We made martinis.  Want one?"

"Nah, I'm good."  Steve tilted his cup back and finished off his second beer of the evening.

"Oh, fine.  Come stay with us.  We're gonna play a game."

"I'm gonna go back and hang with the guys," Steve said, and extracted himself.

Steve couldn't stop thinking about Bucky's phone call.  He wished he had Bucky's cell number so he could text him.  It was a pretty big party, and Tony's house was huge.  He ended up in the backyard, once the alcohol had warmed him up enough that the chill didn't bother him.  The guys were playing beer pong, and Steve watched for a while, quietly sucking down beer after beer and becoming increasingly worried.

"Yo, you see that one-arm kid?  He's got the best costume, man..."

The underclassman talking wasn't someone Steve recognized, but his words brought Steve out of his vague stupor. 

"Who invited him?" said someone else.

"I did."  That was Natasha.  "You have problem?"

"Nope.  No I don't."

"I can't believe he came," said Bruce, right behind Steve.  "I don't think he's been to a single party, like, ever."

As Steve finally focused on where Bruce and Natasha were, Natasha was saying, "I will go talk to him."

"I'm in the middle of a game," said Bruce.

Natasha gave him a look and headed into the house.  She was wearing all black, leggings and a tight top, with cat ears on her head. 

Steve watched her go, numbed by the alcohol.  He both wanted to see Bucky and didn't want to see him.  He hated that someone just referred to Bucky as "that one-armed kid." 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he told no one in particular, and headed inside.

A lot of people had arrived since he'd arrived.  A lot.  Tony's parties were usually pretty big, but this was the biggest he had seen.  Of course, Tony's parents weren't even in the country, and while his parties had been busted by the police before, Tony never really got in trouble.  He passed a darkened room where a cloud of smoke wafted out.  He peered inside, thinking maybe Bucky would be in there. 

"That is such a bad-ass costume," he heard a girl say in the hall. 

"Yeah it is," agreed her male companion.  "Huh, you could even say I'd give my left arm for a costume like that."

The girl groaned.  "Oh my god, you and your puns."

Steve pushed past them, and that's when he got his first glimpse of Bucky's costume, and his mouth fell open.

 


	15. Chapter 15

The spiked hair.  The pale face.  The _leather_.  Steve couldn't see the titular Scissorhands over everyone's heads but the leather was making him feel things he didn't want to be feeling in a crowd like this.  He had to get out of there.  He ducked into the kitchen and focused on refilling his two Solo cups. 

First off, Bucky had been smiling.  Not like a wide grin, but a shy sort of smile.  Steve wondered how long it had been since people had looked at Bucky without treating him like a freak.  It was almost like he couldn't believe it was happening.  Thinking of Bucky smiling made Steve smile. Then he thought of the collar of that leather jacket fastened tight around his throat and the smile fell away. 

He had only just started to fall for the way Bucky looked normally. Now to know that Bucky could look like _this_....

A few more swallows of beer.  No one seemed to be paying attention to him, which was good.  All he could focus on was breathing.  And maybe how to get Bucky alone in this crowd.

No.  He couldn't do that.  What if someone walked in on them?  They could lock the door.  But if anyone saw... he could only imagine the rumors that would fly. 

He had two cups of beer in his hands.  He could give one to Bucky.  Like with Sharon, it would let Bucky know he cared.  Any maybe later, when everyone was obliterated by alcohol, no one would remember if he and Bucky sat down and talked.  Or ended up in a room upstairs together...

***

James didn't know what to do.  Every two seconds, someone else was coming up to him and telling him how awesome his costume was.  He still hadn't gotten out of the front hallway.

The Stark mansion looked like a scene out of some John Hughes movie.  He didn't know parties like this actually happened in high school.  All this time, he'd been missing out.  "Holy shit, you look awesome!" said a guy James used to know from the soccer team.  "How have you been?"

It was strange.  Like he'd been gone for the past two years, and this was his homecoming.  Only he'd been here the whole time.

Clint, on the other hand, was loving this.  "I did his makeup," he told everyone who would listen. 

"You should stop bragging about that," James told him during a momentary lull.  "You want Natasha to think you're gay?"

That shut Clint up.  Not that James really thought Nat would think that - Natasha had found them almost right away and she'd stuck with them ever since.  "I miss you," she had told Clint, laying a hand on his arm, and James had to try hard not to laugh at the expression on Clint's face.

The one person James wanted to come talk to him hadn't.  He had glimpsed Steve in the hallway shortly after Natasha joined them, but James hadn't recognized him right away since he was wearing this weird black fedora, which then ducked into the kitchen, and it had been about fifteen minutes and still Steve had not come out.  James _knew_ Steve had seen him.

"Hey, hey, hey!" 

James recognized that voice.  Clint did, too.  The speaker lifted a werewolf mask and revealed himself to be Sam Wilson. 

"I _thought_ that was you!  Nice costume."

"Thanks."  James smiled.  "I like your costume, too." 

"Yeah, well, you know my parents.  They always have a ton of costume stuff lying around..."  The Wilsons were notorious for doing a big haunted house in their yard and garage each year.  Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were more into Halloween than any of their four kids.  "But you!  This is great.  I have to tell you, I think about you a lot."

"You... do?"  James wasn't sure how to take that.  Sam was most definitely not gay.  His girlfriend was standing right there, wearing an old dress streaked with blood from a fake neck wound – like she'd been bitten by a werewolf.

"Yeah.  You know, like, soccer is one of the few sports you don't need your hands for.  You could totally get back into shape for it."

"Oh.... oh."  James didn't quite know what to say.  He hadn't even thought about any sports except skateboarding since the accident, and skateboarding wasn't going so great.

"Hey, I don't mean to cross any lines or whatever, but you know you were really good back in middle school.  Just a thought.  Uh, so I'm gonna get another drink."

That was when a hand extended through the crowd, and James looked up to catch eyes with Steve.  A cup of beer dangled out in front of him.

He was so surprised that he reached up to grab it with his prosthesis and the two pairs of scissors duct-taped to the claw.  "Oops," he said, and lifted his other hand, which held another pair of scissors.  "Sorry." 

While he looked down for a place to stow the scissors, a freaking belt loop or pocket or something, he heard Sam say, "I got it," and when he looked back up, Steve was gone and Sam was holding the beer for him. 

"Anyway, think about it.  You could come back to the team for the spring season." 

The beer, when Sam pressed it into James's empty hand, felt warm and sweaty.  James wondered how much of that was from Steve's hand.  "Yeah, I'll think about it," he told Sam with as much sincerity as he could muster.  It wasn't like Sam hadn't seen him at all over the past two years.  They went to the same school.  They would have been in the same gym class if James ever went to gym class.

"Yeah, sure."

Damn it.  Sam had effectively distracted him from seeing where Steve had gone. 

He stayed where he was and sipped the beer for a while, until he started to realize how hot he was in the leather jacket, especially with the neck all done up.  The straps on the prosthesis were digging into his armpits and no amount of squirming was making it any more comfortable.  He saw an out when a few of Clint's buddies showed up.  "Hey, man, wanna smoke up?  We're all in the back room."

"I'm gonna find the bathroom," he told Clint, who looked intent on getting Natasha to join him.

"I do not like these drugs," Nat was saying, so James left them there and headed up the stairs. 

He couldn't see Steve anywhere down below.  No wait, he was looking for blond hair.  Now he scanned for black fedoras.  Nope.  He continued up until he was out of view of the first floor.  A balcony looked down over the foyer, but after that it was halls and rooms so lavishly decorated James felt like he was walking through an interior decorating magazine.

At random, James picked one and went inside. 

It looked to be a guest room, with a nice view over the backyard.  James stepped up to the big window and looked out at the dimly lit people shadowing the lawn.  Working a finger under the collar tight around his throat, he realized he wouldn't be able to see Steve.  Once more he wished he had Steve's cell phone number.  Why had they never exchanged numbers? 

He heard voices in the hall and instinctively stepped into the shadows of the room.  The folding doors of the closet were open, and as the voices grew closer, he stepped inside and slid them so they were a little more closed.

"Come on!"  James knew that voice.  Irritating, too perky.  _Sharon_.  Jesus Christ.  He held his breath.  "In here!"

 _No, no, no_.

Through the slatted door, James could make out Sharon running into the room and jumping onto the bed.  She giggled and waited.  A shadow crossed the doorway.  James held his breath.  "I thought you were dating Rogers," said another familiar voice.

_Bruce?_

No. This was bad. 

"Nope."  Sharon giggled again and rolled around on the bed.  The hem of her flapper dress rode up so high James could see her underwear.  He closed his eyes, tried to be invisible.

Bruce still wasn't entering the room.  _Good_ , James thought.  He imagined Clint would have a different take on the situation.  If Bruce cheated on Natasha, then Nat would most definitely dump him, and Clint could be there to pick up the pieces. 

For James, however, everything about this felt icky. 

"Come on.  She'll never know.  She's been hanging around the stoners all night."  Sharon rolled off the bed and went back to the doorway.  "I see the way you look at me.  And I feel the same way."

James heard some sickening lip-smacking noise and screwed his eyes closed even tighter.

"Look, Sharon, I like you, but Natasha and I.... it's complicated."

"What's so complicated about breaking up with her?  I'm simple."

Another voice, from down the hall.  His ears twitched, catching on the familiar sound.  "Hey, Bruce... I forget, which door's the bathroom?"  _Steve_.  Fuck all, he needed to get out of this room.

"Oh, that one, I think."

"Don't go--" Sharon whispered, but James could see the shadow leaving the doorway.  Sharon turned around and flopped down on the bed, face first.  "Fuck."

For a long time she didn’t move.  James felt a drop of sweat roll down the back of his neck.  He hadn’t moved in what felt like forever, because he knew if he did his leather jacket would creak and give him away.  But Sharon didn’t seem to be moving.  Maybe she was passed out?  She’d have to be pretty wasted to throw herself at Bruce like that.  The guy had a girlfriend.  And not just any girlfriend.  In a fight, Natasha would totally slay Sharon.  Hands down.

Besides, Steve was in the bathroom right down the hall.  Maybe.  James hadn’t heard a toilet flush through the walls, anyway.

In his head he counted to thirty, watching Sharon carefully through the slats.  Zero movement other than breathing.  He eased himself through the opening of the closet door, wincing at how loud he seemed to be.  It would be quick, three big steps to the door and he could be out of the room in the time it would take Sharon to lift her head. 

Deep breath. 

One, two –

“How long have you been standing there?” Sharon said behind him, and he froze.

Shit, he should have just kept going.  He cursed himself and turned around.

“Like, were you just standing in the closet staring at me?”

“No, I... I was just...”

Sharon squinted at him.  “Oh, Bucky?  Geez.  Okay.  As long you weren’t some perv.”

“Um, yeah.  Nope.  Not me.”

Her eyeliner was smudged, making her look tired.  Or maybe she was tired.  “Just watching me make a fool of myself, then.”  She flopped down on the bed.

“No!  No, I... uh.  I just panicked and hid in the closet.  I didn’t see anything.  Or hear anything.”  _Stop talking_ , he told himself.

“Yeah, right.  Go ahead.  Go tell everyone what a gross slut I am.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, a knee-jerk reaction.  _Everyone already knows, I don’t have to tell them_.

“Sure you wouldn’t.”  She sat up again, wiped her face.  “Because you like me so much.”

James wasn’t sure what to say to them.  He wasn’t about to deny that he didn’t like her. 

“Can I ask you something, as a guy?”  A sniff.  “Am I fuckable?”

“Uh....”  He took a step backward.  “I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that.”

“I know, you’re gay.  But if you weren’t, would you fuck me?” 

He had never seen Sharon look so raw.  She looked like her last hope hung on his answer, and he wanted nothing more than to run out of the room.  Instead he moved forward and sat down on the bed next to her. 

“You’re really pretty,” he started.

She gave a hopeless laugh and wiped at her eye.  Her fingers came away black.  “Sure.  That’s what everyone says.  _You’re so pretty.  You could have any guy you wanted_.  Even my mom.  _If he’s not interested, you just need to push him a little_.”

Suddenly James realized what this was about.

“So I push and I push and he still doesn’t want me, and I throw myself at all these guys and none of them want me either.  So I just want to know: is there something wrong with me?”

“You’re a little pushy,” James said automatically, and winced down at the scissors taped to his prosthesis. 

This time her laugh was more genuine.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He smiled.  “Look, I think Steve is just going through a lot right now.  Maybe you just need to give him some space, you know?”

“I know.”  She sighed.  “I feel like he’s slipping through my fingers.  I mean, he’s the perfect guy.  My parents love him.  They’ve basically got our wedding planned.”

“Don’t they know you’re not dating anymore?”

She smiled wistfully.  “No.  I couldn’t bring myself to tell them.  And I figured if I acted like it was no big deal, if I was the cool, casual girl, maybe he’d see what an awesome girlfriend I was.  Now I can barely get him to look at me.  I can’t get any guys to look at me.  I’m practically a senior and I’m still a virgin.” 

His jaw jutted out.  “ _I’m_ a virgin.”

“Yeah, but...”  She gestured to his scissored-up fake hand, and he pulled it away defensively.  She sighed again.  “Sorry.  I guess you can add _bitch_ to the list of what’s wrong with me.  Ugh.”

“Who cares if you’re a virgin?” James asked.  “I mean...”  If he hadn’t been buzzing off of one beer he might not have said it, but the words slipped out.  “Everyone thinks you’re kind of a slut.”

“I _know_!”  She slapped her leg.  “Everyone thinks I’m this giant whore and meanwhile I’ve done _nothing._   And I mean _nothing_.  Not even oral.”

“TMI,” James said, and Sharon laughed.

“Steve was right, you are pretty cool when you’re not being a jerk.”

“Gee, thanks.”  It came out bitter, but inside his tight leather jacket he felt a warm swell.  Steve had said that?  Hopefully not the part about being a jerk.  Hopefully Sharon had called him a jerk and Steve had stood up for him.  He smiled down at the scissors in his lap.

“I think you’re the only person who’s ever been honest with me.”  Sharon pushed out her lips and twirled her hair around one finger.  “But back to my original question.”

 “Hey, Sharon, I thought I heard your voice.”  Steve’s shadow darkened the doorway. 

James jumped up.  “Uh, I was just leaving.”

It was hard to see Steve’s face, but he looked concerned and more than a little confused.  “Are you okay?” Steve asked Sharon. 

Sharon laughed.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Feeling a bit like a third wheel, James edged toward the door.

“Wait, don’t go,” Steve said.  “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something?  In private?”

“Um, you want me to wait outside?”

“Don’t worry about it.”  Sharon stood up, smoothed down the fringe on her dress, and rubbed her hand along Steve’s back.  “I’m good.  Back to the party for me.”  She smiled – a big fake smile, James could tell - and flounced out.  On the way she flashed James a different smile.  A real one.

And James found himself smiling back.

***

Steve wasn’t sure what he had just walked in on.  He had been standing around in the hallway for a while, not wanting to go back down to the party.  To Bucky.  Then he thought he had heard Bucky’s voice, real low, and he had moved toward it, then heard Sharon’s voice and decided it couldn’t have been Bucky’s voice. 

He had never expected to see the two of them having some kind of heart-to-heart there on the bed.  At first, looking at Sharon’s mascara-streaked face, he had thought maybe Bucky had said something mean to her and made her cry.  But she didn’t seem to be upset at Bucky.

After Sharon went out, and was out of sight, Steve closed the door.  Turned the little knob to lock it.  Then he turned back to Bucky, swaying slightly on his feet.  “Hi,” he said.

Bucky smiled.  “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “About not recognizing your voice on the phone.”

“Oh.”  Bucky stuck a finger under his collar.  “It’s okay—”

“Do you not like it when I call you Bucky?” Steve asked, stepping closer.

“Huh?”

“I just remembered, that first time in the waiting room, I called you Bucky and you told me your name was James, but after that I called you Bucky and you didn’t say anything.”

“It’s fine.  I don’t care.”

“Really?”

Bucky shifted, the leather creaking.  “I just... I don’t know if you remember how I got that nickname...”

“Wasn’t it because... Didn’t your name used to be hyphenated?  When you were little?  James Buchanan-Barnes?  I thought Bucky was short for that or something.”

“Oh.  Okay.”  Bucky’s pale face looked perplexed.  He still had that finger in his collar. 

Steve licked his lips.  “That looks tight, you need help?”

“O-oh.”  Bucky dropped his hand, and Steve took the opportunity to step in close, to put his hand there near Bucky’s throat.  “I... um, yeah, it’s a little tight.  It’s hot in here.  Oh, watch the scissors.”

Glancing down, Steve saw the claw full of scissors hovering near his belt buckle.  He took the prosthesis by the wrist and moved it around his waist.  “Dangerous costume.”

“Yeah.”  Bucky’s laugh sounded faint.

“So where did you think you got the nickname Bucky?”  His thumb moved over Bucky’s Adam’s apple, which bobbed as he swallowed nervously. 

“Uh... I always thought it was because I had buck teeth.  Then I got braces.  But everyone still called me Bucky.  And it rhymes with another word so when I came out there were some other names I got called...”

Steve watched Bucky’s lips as he spoke. 

“I don’t know, after Billy broke up with me I just wanted to be someone different.  I started calling myself James.  No one else really calls me that.”  Bucky licked his lower lip, seeming to be unaware of how hot that was.  “Not even Clint, and he’s my best friend.”  His dark blue eyes searched Steve’s face, like he suddenly realized how intensely Steve was looking at him. 

Slowly, Steve brought his other hand up and started to work at the buckle.  It was old, a little rusted, and this little bit of leather wasn’t worn with use.  Bucky lifted his chin a bit to give Steve some space.  There was a little squeak of leather, and a cautious touch at his hip.

“You look really good in a suit.”  Bucky’s voice was a hoarse whisper.  “I know you’re supposed to be Clyde or whatever, but you look like Eliot Ness.” 

Finally Steve got the buckle undone, and the collar flopped open.  Bucky sighed, and that was before Steve lowered his head just a few inches and pressed his lips against the hot, newly freed skin.

Bucky sighed again, and sagged against him, that hand at his hip fisting up a wad of his dress shirt.  Steve’s hands held the back of Bucky’s neck, and his thumbs caressed Bucky’s face.  For a long time they just looked at each other, inches apart.  "I want to kiss you," Steve said softly.

“Then kiss me."

"I don’t want to ruin your makeup."  They were so close that the tip of Steve's nose grazed Bucky's.

"I don't care."

Still Steve hesitated.  This wasn't his first kiss, but this particular kiss was a promise, a promise that one day he would tell people Bucky was his boyfriend.  A promise that one day he would come out and deal with all the fallout that involved.  A promise that he would make it clear to Sharon that he was not interested.  This one kiss meant so much more than any other kiss that came before it.

His hands tightened around Bucky's face.  Bucky's fist pulled their hips closer, until they bumped together.

He was scared, he realized.  It felt like he was about to jump off a cliff, not knowing if there were rocks beneath the surface of the water below.  Bucky's eyes searched his, and Steve realized Bucky was scared too.  Crazy, since Steve didn't think Bucky had nearly as much to lose as he did.  Then he understood: with Steve, Bucky had kindled a little hope where there hadn't been any before.  That last bit of hope was what Bucky had to lose, and for him that would be everything.

Steve closed that tiny distance between them.

Bucky's lips were soft as any girl's.  He hadn't been expecting that: somehow he'd built up kissing a boy as being hugely different.  The smell was different, but then Bucky smelled of facepaint and sweat and not the usual smoke.  He had a little stubble on his chin that scratched at Steve's face and Steve found himself still pressing forward, wanting more of that, more of Bucky, more of everything.

There was noise out in the hallway, a small noise in the scheme of things, but the two of them pulled back at the same time.  Bucky's startled face immediately broke into a grin.  "You got a little something there."  Bucky released Steve's waist lifted his hand.  Brushed at Steve's nose.  "Lucky it's just powder."

"Want to, uh..." Steve gestured at the bed.

Bucky glanced at it, then flicked his gaze back up at Steve.  His smile grew more tentative.  He nodded.

Just then, a voice from the hallway.  Loud.  "They tell me you come up here!"

Bucky froze.  "That's Natasha."

"I had to use the bathroom."  And that was Bruce.

"You think I am stupid," Natasha continued.  "I can see that you lie."

"Come on, Nat, nothing happened.  Calm down."

"She's pissed," Bucky whispered.  "Maybe we should go..."

"But then..." Steve's voice trailed off.  Then Bruce and Natasha would _know_.  He rubbed at his face.

"I will not to calm down!"

In three long steps, Bucky was at the door and heading out into the hallway.

***

Bucky had heard stories about Bruce's temper.  Not that he'd ever heard of Bruce hitting a girl – he wasn't sure even Bruce would sink that low.  But Bruce had flipped out during gym class and during football games, hurling equipment and sometimes shoving around his teammates or opponents, whatever or whoever had pissed him off. 

Not that Natasha couldn't take care of herself, but Bruce was a linebacker.  Things could go very wrong.

"Nat, you okay?" he asked.

Both of them looked at him.  "Yes, yes, Yasha," Nat said, waving him away.

"How long have you been in that room?" Bruce asked slowly.

"Long enough," Bucky said.  He looked at Natasha.  "Bruce didn't do anything."

"You fuckin' creeper," Bruce started.

"You do not speak to my Yasha this way!" Nat yelled. 

For a tense moment, the couple stared each other down.  Then Nat relented.  "I am certain Yasha tells the truth.  Okay?  I am sorry for the yelling."

Bruce stepped back, only slightly appeased.  He gave Bucky a hard look.  "Get lost," he said. 

"No," said Natasha, holding up one finger.

Bruce sighed.  "Just... we need to talk.  Alone."

"Yeah, sure."  Bucky sneaked a glance back at the bedroom, but Steve still had not emerged.  He ducked his head down and skirted past Bruce and Natasha, only pausing at the head of the stairs. 

He knew why Steve hadn't followed him out.  It would have been too obvious.  The two of them, alone in an empty bedroom together?  Bucky's makeup all smudged?  He wiped at his face and made his way down the stairs. 

In touching his face, he remembered Steve's lips there.


	16. Chapter 16

On Sunday morning, Bucky obsessed over whether or not to call Steve.  At the party, after going downstairs, he had found Clint not getting stoned, but on the back porch, calling Bucky's cell phone.  "Dude, where have you been?  Natasha got all in my face about doing drugs.  And then some chick came in and said Bruce was upstairs with Sharon and she, like, flipped out.  Like, I don't wanna smoke if maybe she's single now, but I don't know what's going on."

Bucky had explained, and then they had waited around – Clint for Natasha, and Bucky for Steve, but after neither had shown for a while they decided to just leave. 

So Bucky wasn't hung over at all.  He was pretty sure Steve might be, so he procrastinated until around noon.  He still didn't have Steve's cell number, but he could call the house, and maybe if he told Steve it was Bucky calling, Steve would know who he was and not be weird about it.  He was just about to pull up his contacts list when his mom called him down.

"What?" he yelled back.

"Come down here," his mother yelled up the stairs.

He went as far as the top of the stairs.  "What do you want?"

"James Buchanan Barnes, I am not doing this!" she called from the kitchen.

" _Fine_ ," he said, and stuck his phone in his pocket before heading down.  "What?"

"First thing, lose the attitude."

He heaved a huge sigh.

"Second," here she turned around from the kitchen counter, where she had been in the process of making another lasagna.  For Steve?  he wondered.  "I think we should try driving again this afternoon."

His stomach seized up, and he glared at her.  "I'm pretty sure that's a fucking awful idea."

Mrs. Barnes raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not going to apologize," he snapped, turning back to the stairs.  "I don't feel like having another panic attack, _thanks_."

"Dr. Hill thinks it's a good idea."  That spun him back around.  "It's better to confront your fears head-on."

"You talked to Dr. Hill about me?"

"Why is that such a surprise?"

"It's supposed to be confidential!" he shouted her.  "That's not fair!  She didn't tell me she was going to talk to you--"

" _I_ talked to _her_.  I called her and asked her about it."

"She shouldn't have talked to you!"  He felt his hand shaking, and he balled it into a fist against his thigh.

"James."  This was the second time she had called him James, and she only did that when she was dead serious.  "Let's sit down and talk about this."

"No!  It's not fair!"  He blinked back angry tears.  "How am I supposed to trust her now, huh?"

His mother sat down and looked at him.  It pissed him off even more that she was so calm.

"I don't wanna go in the car," he gulped. 

"Come sit down, honey."

He looked at the stairs longingly.  If only he was up in his room, calling Steve.  If only he'd dialed the number just a minute earlier, he wouldn't have to deal with this.

*** 

Steve woke up around noon with a massive hangover.  He groaned, looked over at his clock, and bolted out of bed.  Too fast – he had to stop and stand there for a long minute, swaying. 

The night nurse wouldn't have woken him – she had been staying overnight the past few nights, because his mother kept having problems breathing.  She would have just waited for the day nurse to arrive, pass on information, and leave.  But the day nurse ought to have woken him.  Unless...

He groaned again.  Mrs. Ross was probably sitting in the living room, watching one of her Hallmark movies and knitting.   Going to his dresser, he fished out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, then slipped out of his room and across the hall into the bathroom to see the damage.

Despite how he felt, he didn’t look half-bad.  Hair needed combing.  It was only when he went to wash his face that he remembered kissing Bucky. 

Hands down on the sink to steady himself.  Had he really done that?  At a party, where anyone might have seen them?  He vaguely remembered closing a door and locking it.  Good.  He remembered very clearly Bucky’s costume.  Why hadn’t they done more than kiss?  Steve was hard right now thinking about him.  He grinned a little, laughed silently to himself.  He should call Bucky.  After he got rid of Mrs. Ross.

“My, my, you certainly slept in!” the older woman called out when Steve headed down the hall and into the kitchen.  He opened the fridge and stared into its depths, willing himself to have an appetite.  Nope.  He poured himself a glass of water.  “Not that you don’t deserve to do that every once in a while.  You work so hard.”

That last came out as a purr and Steve suppressed a shudder.  Mrs. Ross stood in the doorway to the kitchen now.  He turned himself sideways and gulped down some water.

“Yeah, I can’t believe I slept so late,” Steve said.  “I guess I was really tired.”  Mrs. Ross wouldn’t have known that Steve had been out until something like three a.m., right?

“Well, boys will be boys.”  Mrs. Ross was just standing there, watching him.

“Yep.  Well, I’ve got loads of homework, that should keep me awake all afternoon.  How’s Mom?”

“You know, honey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news.” 

Until now, he’d been avoiding looking at her.  Now he found himself searching her face.  “What?”

“Paula – that’s the day nurse? – she said she doesn’t think it will be long.”

Steve blinked hard and looked away.

“Oh, honey, I don’t mean to upset you.”  The floor creaked as Mrs. Ross approached, and Steve tried not to cringe away as she put a hand on his arm.  “I just don’t want you to be caught off-guard, that’s all.”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically.

“Steven, dear, you can’t bottle away your emotions like this.”

Something inside of him snapped.  “Thank you, Mrs. Ross.  I really appreciate everything you do.  I have to go do my homework now.”

“You can always talk to me,” Mrs. Ross said, plucking at his t-shirt as he hurried away. 

“I have a therapist,” he called over his shoulder. 

Originally he had headed for his room, but he quickly took a detour into his mother’s room and closed the door.  Sagged against it.  Closed his eyes.  Reminded himself to breathe. 

“Stevie...”  His mother’s croaked voice woke him back up.  Unlike Mrs. Ross’s voice, his mother’s voice didn’t needle into his hungover brain.  He rushed to the bedside and took up her hand.  The skin of her palm felt dry and paper-thin.

“What do you need, Mom?” he asked.

But she didn’t say anything more.  She only coughed a little, and he checked her oxygen tank and the different monitors.  In the precious moments she was awake, she squeezed Steve’s hand and the way she looked at him told him everything he needed to know.

***

Bucky wore the leather jacket to school on Monday.

Mostly he wore it for Steve, just for that split second of reaction he might get.  Or maybe to watch Steve shift uncomfortably in his seat all day, unable to do anything about it.  _You could do something if you’d just come out, already_.  Of course, Bucky hadn’t gotten around to calling Steve last night.  Not after the whole driving debacle with his mother.  She made it sound so reasonable.  And then he’d had another panic attack. 

Partially though, he knew he was wearing it so people would recognize him like they had at the party.  He hoped that he wouldn’t be ignored again, that the people who spoke to him at Tony’s house had been sincere. 

Especially Sam. 

He had this plan in his head that he would ask Sam to help him practice over the winter.  Then he’d get to be friends with Sam and all the other soccer guys again, and maybe they could convince Clint to get back into it and maybe not smoke as much. 

Natasha was right on that point, she was always right. 

To his surprise, Clint was at school bright and early.  Bucky saw him before he saw Steve, so he stopped while Clint was at his locker.  “What are you even doing here?  I thought you didn’t believe in Mondays.”

Clint nodded at the large styrofoam coffee cup sitting on his locker shelf.  “I don’t.”

“So...”

“Dude, it’s too early,” he moaned.

Bucky leaned against the locker, careful to round his left shoulder so the sensitive part wasn’t the part taking his weight.  “Let me guess... this has something to do with Natasha.”

“Duuude!”  Clint looked around.  “Keep it on the down low.”  A beat later, he asked, “Have you heard anything?”

“Nope.”

“God. She’s gotta break up with him.  He’s a grade-A douche.”

Bucky shrugged.  He wondered why he felt reluctant to say anything.  This was _Bruce_.  Then again, he’d witnessed Bruce _not_ being a douche at the party.  “She’s been with him for two years.  You gotta give her some time.  If they broke up.  You don’t wanna be just her rebound guy, do you?”

Now it was Clint’s turn to shrug.  He gulped down some coffee and sagged against the lockers.

“Hi, Clint,” said Kate’s now-familiar voice.

Today she had on a pleated black skirt with purple leggings and a matching cowl-neck sweater.  Her glossy hair had been pulled back with a barrette. 

“And hello to you, too, James.”  That threw Bucky a little.  There _was_ someone who called him James.

“Hi,” Bucky said.

A moment passed where Clint found the inside of his locker very interesting and Bucky nudged him with his foot trying to get him to say something.  Anything.  And Kate stood there.

“You’re very color coordinated today,” Bucky said finally.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“I just mean... your clothes match.”

She tossed her hair.  “My clothes _always_ match.”  Then she looked at Bucky.  “You have a new jacket, I see.”

“Yeah.  It was my dad’s,” Bucky said without thinking.  He steeled himself for the inevitable question about why his dad would be giving away his clothes, but the question never came.

“You like coffee?” Kate asked Clint.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”  Kate let that hang there for a minute.  “I think it’s very telling of a person, how they take their coffee.”

Clint turned and squinted at her.  “I drink mine black, what does that say about me?”

The corner of Kate’s mouth lifted in a smile.  “It says you’re straightforward.  You don’t play games.”

“Oh.”  Clearly Clint had not been expecting that.  “How do you take your coffee?”

Now Kate smiled fully.  “Black.”  With a little flounce, she walked away and didn’t look back to see the way Clint stared after her pleated skirt.

“Dude,” Bucky had to say, finally.  “Dude.”

“What?” Clint’s head swung back around.

Bucky smirked.  “Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I said.”  Bucky had to look away, or he was going to laugh.  Good thing he did, too, because he caught his first glimpse of Steve in the crowded hallway.

Steve wasn't looking at him.  He was talking to Bruce, who didn't look happy.  God, maybe Bruce and Natasha _had_ broken up. 

"How do you think Natasha takes _her_ coffee?" Clint asked.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

***

"She's really mad at me," Bruce kept saying.  "I mean, I didn't even do anything."

Steve couldn't help but point out, "You did go upstairs with Sharon."

"I know, that was dumb," Bruce agreed.  "And if Nat wasn't up that one-armed freak's butt all night..."

"Hey," Steve said sharply.

Bruce hung his head.  "Sorry.  Like, it's not my fault Brock called him Edward Scissorhands, you know?  Ever since that happened she's been on my case.  You know I'm not like that, right?"

Steve kept his voice level.  "Sure." 

At this point he just wished Natasha would break up with Bruce already.  He was starting to see why Bucky hated Bruce so much.  And why Natasha was pissed at him.  If Steve had been in that car when Brock called Bucky that, he probably would have gotten physical.  At the very least he would have pulled the car over and made Brock walk home.  After making him apologize to Bucky.

If there had been anyway to skip school today, he would have.  He was tired.  His mother's monitors kept beeping last night, and even though the night nurse was there to take care of things, he still found himself waking up each time, listening, sometimes even getting up and checking to see what was going on.  His eyes felt like sandpaper.

The thing was, no one would care if he had skipped school to stay home with his mom.  Not anyone who knew the situation, anyway. 

He dragged himself to class when the bell rang.  Didn't even notice Bucky until Pre-Calculus.  Like in English class, Bucky usually sat in the far back of the room.  Normally Steve barely registered anyone else in Pre-Calc.  Ms. May didn't like any idle chatter from her students, and she lectured at rapid-fire speeds, so most of them were too busy scribbling down notes to talk or even make eye contact with another student.  When the bell rang, Steve usually felt like he'd just done suicide sprints.  Test days were relaxing. 

So when Steve walked into class and saw Bucky in that leather jacket, he wanted to curse under his breath (he didn't, of course).  He did make eye contact when he walked in, and smiled, and Bucky smiled back.  Then it was note-sprints.

Lunch was more of Bruce whining and when Steve looked over at Bucky, Natasha was sitting there with him and Clint Barton and some brown-haired girl Steve had seen sitting with Bucky before.  He felt a little twinge of jealousy.  Did this girl _like_ Bucky?  Then he chastised himself.  She was certainly barking up the wrong tree.  He should feel bad for her, not jealous.

He barely noticed until English class started that Sharon wasn't being as annoying as usual.  Sure, she took her usual seat beside him, but she wasn't constantly asking him stuff or making plans for them.  He hoped she wasn't expecting him to ask her to Homecoming.  Last year they had been on the Homecoming Court – Tony and Pepper had been King and Queen.  She hadn't seemed mad about the Halloween party at all.  Girls could be so hard to read.  He really hoped she wasn't being all passive-aggressive and wanting him to ask her without her having to nag.

Bucky.  Leather.  He found a few excuses to turn around – cracking his back, reaching down into his backpack for a pencil.

"Steve?" said Mr. Dugan.

Steve's head snapped up.  He'd been so deep in his own thoughts – _Bucky, leather_ – that he hadn't even noticed the classroom's visitor.  She – Steve vaguely recognized her as an underclassman - had a note, and both she and Mr. Dugan were looking at him. 

"Yes?" he asked, even though he knew. 

"You're to report to the principal's office."  The words ran like fuzz through his brain.  He stood up, gathered up his things.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Sharon whispered, and he mostly ignored her.  Mostly because his body was on autopilot as he left the classroom and headed to the office. 

He knew.


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky locked his bike outside the hospital entrance with a shaking hand, and hurried through the maze of hallways inside.  He’d spent enough time at the hospital to know it pretty well, but he hadn’t been to the ICU since right after the accident.  He only knew Steve's mom was in the ICU because he'd grabbed Sharon after English and asked her for Steve's number.  He had texted Steve and felt only the tiniest bit of relief to find out that Steve's mother wasn't gone.  Not yet.

Turning past the nurse’s station, he saw Steve sitting there, elbows on his knees, head hanging, and he picked up the pace, only to discover two steps later that there was someone sitting beside Steve, on the other side of him, half hidden. 

Sharon had her arm looped through one of Steve’s and her head on his shoulder.  Well, that was to be expected.  Sharon must have her own car; that was how she'd gotten there faster.  She might have offered him a ride, but he told himself that maybe she didn't realize the situation between Bucky and Steve.  And Bucky wouldn't have been able to get in her car anyway.

Slowing, Bucky approached, and set his bag down near Steve’s feet.  Steve lifted his head a little, then shifted and stood up.  “I, uh, have to go to the bathroom,” Steve said to Sharon, and looked at Bucky with an expression so destroyed, so emotionally exhausted, that it stabbed Bucky right through the chest.

“I’ll go with you,” Bucky said quickly.  He gave Sharon a quick smile, so she would know Bucky was going to take care of Steve. 

When they entered the bathroom, however, Steve stood in front of the sink for a minute, gripping the porcelain. 

Bucky stood there, not knowing what to say.  What did you say to someone whose parent was about to die? 

Steve took a deep breath, then spun around, and pushed Bucky back into the far stall. 

The door wasn’t even closed, but Steve pushed his mouth up against Bucky’s anyway.  Steve’s arms crushed around Bucky’s shoulders, his body weight pressing Bucky up against the wall.  These were frantic kisses, that quickly moved from Bucky’s lips down along his neck. 

Bucky knew Steve wasn’t kissing him because he was horny, or anything like that.  Bucky could only tilt his head back and gasp for air.  Fuck, it felt so good, and then Steve was sobbing into his shoulder.

His arm was sort of trapped, wrapped around Steve’s waist on the opposite side from Steve’s head, so he couldn’t exactly comfort Steve in the way he wanted to.  All he could do was flail his arm a little and try to rub his back. 

"Imma doonnnaa gone doooo," Steve wailed into his leather jacket. 

Bucky didn't say anything.  He still remembered all those times people tried to tell him things to make him feel better: "You're lucky you're still alive."

"You're going to get through this."

And the worst, "It's going to be okay."

Back when he'd been taking a lot of pain medication and it still hadn't seemed like enough, nothing felt like it would be okay ever again.  He remembered how much he had needed a hug just like this one, and how painful it would have been to get one.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

***

“I’m sorry,” he told Bucky after.  After he had splashed cold water on his face so his eyes weren’t so red and puffy.  After he had finally been able to let Bucky go. 

Bucky just gave him a tight smile and said, “You should probably go see your mom.”

Steve nodded.  He didn’t want to see her like this.  But he let Bucky take his hand and lead him back to the waiting room. 

“I can’t go in with you,” Bucky said.  They were just standing there, holding hands.  Sharon was watching them.  Steve looked at her, and he knew that she now knew.  She looked down at her phone and nodded to herself.

“I know.”  Steve stared down at their interlaced fingers.

“Just go.  I’ll be here.” 

Bucky gave his hand a squeeze, and then extracted himself.  Steve watched it happen, the same way he’d been watching everything happen since that moment the phone rang in English class.  He watched himself walk down the hall and heard himself ask about Sarah Rogers at the nurse’s station. 

The only time he felt himself settle back inside his own body was when he sat by her bed and took her cold hand in his.

***

“So now we wait?” Sharon said when Bucky sat down beside her. 

“Now we wait.”

Bucky took out his phone.  The cell reception here was shit.  He didn’t know how Sharon could do anything on her phone until he looked over and saw that she was reading a book.  “Anything good?” he asked, pointing to her screen.

“Oh...”  She blushed.  “Yeah, actually.  It’s called _Unintended_... one of those dystopian books.  I love those.”

“Really?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear.  “Yeah, I’ve read all the Hunger Games series, _Divergent_ , all of those.”  She clicked off her phone and looked at him.  “What kind of stuff do you like to read?”

They ended up talking about books until Bucky's stomach rumbled so loudly even the nurses heard it.  "You hungry?" he asked Sharon.

"Yeah, I guess I'd better head home."  She glanced back at the door marked _Intensive Care Unit_.  "Do you want a ride?"

Bucky didn't even have to think about that one.  "Nah.  I'll grab something at the cafeteria." 

Both of them stood up and Bucky waited while Sharon put on her coat and gathered up her things.

"So... you and Steve, huh?" she asked.

He played with the strap on his messenger bag.  "Yeah, kinda."

"It makes sense, I guess," she said, before they started walking down toward the cafeteria.  "I always thought he was just being a gentleman, but I guess he just wasn't interested."

"If it helps, I don't think he was really sure about it himself."  When they got to the lobby, Bucky stopped.  "Don't tell anyone okay?  I know he's worried about how people will react, and with all this..."

"I won't," Sharon promised.  She waved and headed out.

Bucky bought himself a sandwich and a soda from caf, then bought another for Steve.  As he wound his way back up to the ICU he found himself looking at the nurses who passed by.  His memories of the hospital weren't great, but there were a few people he remembered who had been really nice to him.  He found himself feeling a bit disappointed that he didn't see anyone he knew.  Then again, they probably wouldn't want to see him.  He hadn't been a very good patient.

Before he got back to the ICU, he stopped off in the lobby to call his mom.  He knew she would be worried, since he hadn't gone home after school, and she was.  "But Mom, Steve's mom is dying and he doesn't have anyone..."  She told him he could stay until visiting hours were over.  "But Mom, it's the ICU.  Steve will be there all night, by himself."

"I will come to pick you up at eight o'clock," his mother said.  "We'll decide what to do then."

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek as he hung up.  One thing was sure, he didn't want to get in a car to drive home at night.  He'd rather risk riding home on his bike in the dark.  Once his mom saw how alone Steve was, Bucky was sure she'd let him stay overnight.  She had to.

Steve was still in there when Bucky returned to the seats he and Sharon had occupied earlier.  He set down Steve's sandwich on the chair beside him, and devoured his own in about four bites.  After washing it down with soda, he wandered off to find a vending machine and got some Doritos.  Wandered back.  Still no Steve.  Then it was a hunt for some good magazines – he found a dog-eared issue of Cosmo and flipped through that for a while.  Then he figured he ought to do his homework.  He was still working on math when he heard his mom's boot heels clacking on the floor. 

"He's in with his mom?" Mrs. Barnes asked.  She took the seat beside Bucky, and to his surprise, she stuck her hand in his hair and started combing it.  He let her, though he tried not to show how much he liked it. 

"Yeah.  He's been in there a long time."

"And he doesn't have anyone?  Grandparents, no aunts or uncles?"

Bucky shook his head.

"Honey, I know you like him a lot," she started, and Bucky tried not to grimace.  "I just want you to know that this isn't your responsibility.  I think it's very brave of you to want to be here for your friend.  But I think he would understand if you went home and went to bed and went to school.  He'll know you'll be here tomorrow."

"He's my boyfriend," Bucky told her.

She smiled a little.  "Your boyfriend?"

"Yeah."  He smiled too.  Then it faded away.  "Can't I stay here tonight with him?  I can go to school tomorrow.  I'll sleep on the chairs here.  I just... don't want him to be alone if something happens tonight."

"I thought you'd ask that."  From the depths of her giant purse she withdrew a plastic grocery bag.  "I packed you a change of clothes and your toothbrush and some snacks."

He took the bag and tried not to cry.  "Thanks, Mom."

"Call me if you need me.  Steve is welcome to come stay with us,  you know that."

"Okay."  He said thank  you a few more times, then hugged his mom and listened to her heels all the way down the hall.

Sitting there in the waiting room chair with Steve's sandwich on the seat beside him, he felt heavy and sad.  It was after ten before he slouched down in the chair and closed his eyes.

***

He woke up briefly in the middle of the night.  Disoriented, he blinked and looked around, but didn't move, because he could feel a weight leaning against his arm.  Then he remembered: Hospital.  Steve.  So Steve had come out of the ICU.  and he had sat down beside Bucky, and threaded his arm through Bucky's elbow, and his head was resting on Bucky's shoulder. 

At first Bucky wondered how he could have slept through Steve doing all that, nosing his big head under Bucky's.  Then he heard a weird little sound.  A whimper, almost, but quieter, and he realized Steve was crying.  He could see the tears rolling off Steve's nose. 

"Steve?" he said, his voice groggy.  "Steve, what happened?"

But Steve didn't have to answer.  Bucky knew, especially when Steve just cried harder and buried his face in Bucky's shoulder again.  He tried to sit up with Steve's weight on him and finally managed, so that Steve could wrap his arms around his torso and hold tight. 

It was loud, ugly crying, and Bucky could see the few others in the waiting room trying not to look.  Screw them.  He hugged Steve as hard as he could.

When Steve's crying had died down a bit, Bucky whispered, "My mom said you can stay at our house for a while.  Do you want me to call her?"

Steve just breathed into his shoulder for a while.  Finally he nodded.

"I have to go down to the lobby to get reception.  You can come with me if you want?"

Silence.  So, Bucky waited. 

He felt his eyes wanting to shut.  When he finally located a clock he saw that it was almost four a.m.  And Steve was sleeping, too.  That was okay, he thought.  We can sleep here, and deal with everything else in the morning.  Besides, Steve's head made sleeping much more comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanowrimo is coming up in less than a week and I'm planning on working on one of my original stories for that. I will probably have another update before Nov. 1 but after that... I'm not sure. Hopefully I will update a few times during November but no promises :)


	18. Chapter 18

In the morning Steve rubbed his eyes and peeled his face from Bucky's leather jacket.  There was a bit of drool.  He was wiping it off when Bucky cracked his eyes open.  "Hey," Bucky said, his voice croaking.

Steve tried to smile.  His face felt wooden.

Bucky pushed himself up.  "I'll just go call my mom, if you want."  He winced on the word "mom."

Steve nodded and looked down at the floor.

He felt so empty.

***

By the time Bucky got back to Steve, a girl was sitting there with him.  Brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, red glasses, and a sweater with a reindeer pattern on it.  Steve was listening to her and nodding and mumbling. 

"Hi," Bucky said, since Steve was just watching him approach. 

"Oh, hi!"  The girl stood up, and now Bucky could see she had a name tag.  He could also see that she wasn't as young as he had originally thought.  Mid-twenties, maybe.  "I'm Allison, Steve's social worker."

Bucky shook her hand, and he caught her eye drift over to his arm.  "Hi," he said again.

Allison turned back to Steve.  "It's totally up to you," she said. 

Unsure of what was happening, Bucky picked up his bags and looked at Steve, who stared back at him.  "What's going on?" he asked quietly.

"There's an open bed at a group home," Steve said, his voice flat.  "So I would stay there until they find a foster family for me.  _If_ they find a foster family."

"My mom said you could stay with us."  Technically, she had only said for a night.  Now that Bucky had heard Steve's options, though, he couldn't stand the thought of Steve going to a group home.  "I just called her," he explained to Allison.  "She's coming to pick us up."

"Here's the deal," Allison said, pushing her bangs out of her face.  They flopped back into her eyes.  "If Steve decides to take your mom up on her offer, I will still need to talk to her first, and check out your house to make sure it's compliant.  Ha ha, I'm sure it is, but we have to do it, you know.  But, it might be better for Steve to get right into the group home environment.  He'll have 24/7 support, crisis counselors right there in case he needs them, and he'll be with other kids going through similar situations."

Bucky clenched his jaw.  _I went through the same thing_ , Bucky wanted to say.  But he _hadn't_ gone through the same thing.  He still had a parent left after his dad.  "Okay," he said finally.

He waited for Steve to say he'd rather stay with Bucky, but Steve just stared at the floor.  Steve didn't seem to be in a talkative mood.  Rather, he looked like he'd rather go to bed and not get up for a hundred years.

***

Steve shuffled after Allison and Bucky down to the lobby to wait for Bucky's mom.  He kept his hands firmly in his pockets, even when Bucky tried to reach out.  Bucky's fingers circled his wrist for a brief moment before withdrawing.  They walked the rest of the way to the lobby, each of them with his hands shoved in his own pockets. 

Steve knew that if he held Bucky's hand, he'd be tempted to crush Bucky into a hug and break down again.  He felt too exhausted to cry anymore.

He was only vaguely aware of Mrs. Barnes arriving, and a discussion with Allison. "You're welcome to stay with us," Mrs. Barnes said.  "At least until the funeral." 

The floor tiles didn't have a pattern.  At first he had thought they did.  Three off-white tiles, then one gray tile, with a row of white in between, and the next row had the gray tiles staggered to the first row, but then there were a few gray tiles that didn't fit the pattern.  And the grain of the tiles had no pattern at all.  They were up and down and side to side with no rhyme or reason that he could see. 

 "Steve, what do you want to do?" Allison asked.

He didn't know.  He didn't know anything.  Why couldn't someone just make this decision for him?

Part of him wanted to go to a group home.  There nothing would be expected of him.  No one would know him.  He might have a chance to be invisible. 

But if he did that, he knew it wouldn't be so simple.  There would be paperwork.  There would be new people he would have to meet.  He would probably have to talk.  He would probably have to share a room.  He would not be left alone.

He felt Bucky's hand creeping around his wrist again.  "Steve?" Bucky whispered.  He let Bucky tug his hand out of his pocket, and just like that, he was clinging to that hand like a life raft. 

He found his voice, though it was a hoarse whisper.  "I'll stay with Bucky."

***

Outside the car, Bucky was only concerned about getting Steve into the car.  He didn't know why Steve had hesitated so long before answering back there.  Wasn't staying with his sort of boyfriend a way better option than going to some group home? 

That whole long silent period had Bucky trying not to cry and trying to remind himself that Steve's mom had just _died_.  Steve was probably in shock.  He looked like he was in shock.  Except for the way he was squeezing Bucky's hand before Bucky tugged it out – flexing his fingers to get the feeling back in them.  Then Bucky had to shove him into the car, basically. 

It was only when Bucky himself got into the car - "What about your bike, hon?" - that Bucky realized what he was doing and froze.  He stopped breathing.  Could he tell his mother that he'd meet them back at the house?  One look at Steve, and he knew he couldn't do that.  Couldn't abandon Steve. 

"I'll get it tomorrow," he managed to say.

Thankfully, his mother just looked at him in the rearview mirror and nodded and didn't ask any questions.  And she waited for him to put on his seatbelt before she even started up the car. 

Of course he was sitting on the wrong side of Steve to hold hands again.  He did his usual death grip on the door handle and pressed himself back into the seat and tried to breathe.  It was only five minutes from the hospital to home.  Only five minutes.

By the time they got home he thought he was going to pass out from not being able to breathe.  He pried his fingers from the door handle and stumbled out of the car.  When he looked up from the wonderful solid ground beneath his feet, he said, "Where are we?"

***

She was gone.  He was alone.

_You're not alone_ , a little voice whispered. _You have Bucky_.

_Yeah, Bucky.  You've known him for a few weeks.  Do you really know him?  He's not even really your boyfriend.  He's basically a stranger.  His mother is a stranger.  You're going to stay with strangers._

Back and forth, and all he kept coming back to was, _I'm alone.  I'm alone._

He heard some talking outside of the car, and it didn't even register that they had stopped until Bucky's mother turned around in the front seat.  "Steve?  I figured you might want to get some clothes and things."

He blinked.  Lifting his gaze was harder than benchpressing.  The small white house, with the overgrown bushes and the unraked leaves in the yard, stood dark and empty.  Empty.  Alone.  He didn't want to go in there.  It was a tomb.  All those things would just remind him of what he no longer had.

***

Bucky couldn't explain why he didn't recognize Steve's house at first.  He wondered if it would be awful to ask if he could just walk home from here, rather than get back into the car. 

On the other hand, Steve didn't look like he wanted to get out of the car.  He sat there, staring straight ahead, his face slack. 

Ducking down, holding himself up by the roof of the car with a shaking hand, Bucky looked at Steve for a moment.  "Steve?  I'll go in with you if you want."

***

"No."

He didn't look at Bucky as he got out of the car and brushed past him.  One foot in front of the other.  Cracks in the walkway.  Up the two steps and then tried the door.  Who had locked it?  He felt in his pockets for the key.  Nothing.  They would be in his backpack.  He sighed, deflated.  Prepared to turn around.  Bucky was standing right there, holding his keys out to him.

"You don't have to do this alone," Bucky said to him.

Steve just turned away and went into the house. 

***

It was silent after he shut the door.  Dark, silent.  Empty.  No beeping.  No whooshing sound of air.

He was alone.

For a long time he stood in the doorway of her room.  The bed wasn't made.  The EMTs had taken her out and put her on a gurney and left the rumpled sheets and the bank of dark machines. 

His own room felt just as dead and empty.  There didn't seem to be anything here he wanted.  His schoolbooks were in his backpack, in the car.  He pulled out a duffel bag and methodically went through his drawers.  Seven pairs of underwear.  Seven pairs of socks. Two pairs of jeans.  Seven shirts.  It didn't seem like much.  He took his toothbrush from the bathroom.  All the pill bottles were hers.  He looked at the labels.  He took two of the bottles and buried them in the clothes.

Back to packing.  He should bring pajamas.  He had some pajama pants and a old sweatshirt from when he played junior varsity.  He'd been so small then, the sweatshirt had been enormous on him, and now it fit him snugly.  He'd probably just wear a t-shirt to bed.

If there was a bed.  He considered taking his pillow, didn't.  Hefting his duffel bag over his shoulder, he returned to his mother's room and took her pillow.  He didn't care that it had a flowered pillowcase or that it smelled more like a hospital than like her.  That was it.  He supposed he could take a photo, but he'd have to hunt for one from before she was sick. 

He stopped before he got to the front door.  Looking around, he wondered what would happen to all this stuff.  To the house.  He knew the house still had a mortgage.  But the stuff inside, where would it go after the bank took the house?  He wasn't sure he cared.  All of it was steeped in memories that he'd been avoiding.

***

"Do you think he's okay in there?" Bucky asked.  He was still standing outside the car, shifting from foot to foot.

"I'm sure this is hard for him, but sometimes people need time alone to grieve."

"But, maybe he's just afraid to ask..."  Bucky trailed off when Steve finally emerged, some twenty minutes after he'd gone in.  He heaved a sigh.

Mrs. Barnes popped the trunk and Steve put his bag and a pillow in the back.  Steve approached Bucky's side.  Bucky waited for him to get in, but he just stood there.  Bucky reached out for his hand.  Steve didn't respond to that.  Didn't move while Bucky slid his hand down to fit into Steve's.  "Are you okay?" Bucky asked.

"I'm just waiting for you to get in," Steve said flatly.

Bucky gripped Steve's hand as he looked into the car.  "Oh, okay."  He swallowed hard.  Despite Steve's tone of voice, Bucky felt like Steve somehow knew how Bucky felt about being in the car.  He wanted to hold hands during the short drive.  It should have helped, but it didn't.  His breathing was getting faster.

"Just get in," his mother called unhelpfully from the front.

He could do this.  He could do this for Steve.

***

Steve waited for Bucky to get into the car.  He wanted to keep holding Bucky’s hand.  That was all.  That was the only reason he wanted to switch seats.  Bucky’s hand.

So he waited.  It seemed like waiting was the only thing he was good at doing.

***

It was awkward, clumsy, the way Bucky finally got into the back seat.  He didn’t have his hand to use for balance or support as he ducked down, and his legs were so wobbly he nearly collapsed into the seat.  Steve didn’t push at him to hurry up, or demand what was taking so long.  He could tell his mother was feeling impatient now.  When he finally landed in the seat, and Steve pushed him over a little so he could squeeze in, and Bucky had taken a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes and remembered that other people had it worse than him.  Steve was all alone.  He only had Bucky, so Bucky had to be there for him.  His mother wasn’t going to get into a car accident driving one street over.

_Fifty percent of car accidents happened within five miles of home._

He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut.

He could hear his mom telling him to put on his seatbelt, but he couldn’t do that.  Steve was holding his hand.  Rather, he was squeezing Steve’s hand as hard as he could. 

He felt Steve leaning over him and a band tightened across his chest.  For a moment he thought he was having another panic attack, and that almost made him have a panic attack, before he realized it was just the seatbelt.  Steve was putting his seatbelt on for him.

“I’m here,” Steve said to him.  Whispered, maybe, but it sounded too loud, and when Steve touched his face he flinched.  Then gentle pressure, and Steve was pressing Bucky’s face to his shoulder and holding it there. 

All the way home.

***

When Steve finally lay down on the bed, all the stuff before it felt like a blur: Bucky leading him up to the guest room, and showing him where the bathroom was, and showing him where there were towels and asking him if he was hungry.  Allison finally got there with the paperwork and everything and then she had needed a tour. 

The only time Steve said anything was when Bucky’s mom said, “Honey, I’m sure Steve is tired.”  Then he just said, “Yeah.”

It would have been nice to have Bucky here.  To curl up around him, and crush him tight against his chest.  If it had been Sharon, he knew her parents wouldn’t have allowed that, so he assumed Bucky’s mom wouldn’t allow that either. 

The white sheets felt cold under him, the blanket not nearly warm enough, the sage green walls too bright.  Green was supposed to be a soothing color, he remembered that from somewhere.  That was why they had “green rooms” backstage.  At least he had her pillow.  He breathed in and out and stared at the walls until his eyes blurred, then he waited for sleep to fill up the emptiness.


	19. Chapter 19

_Dooooooood_

Bucky looked down at his phone. Clint.

_where u at_

He texted back a quick, _At home_.

_doooood r u ok?  u sick?_

His history essay wasn’t going so well anyway.  Bucky picked up his phone.

_no. steve’s mom just died and he’s staying here for a while_

_who’s steve?_

_steve rogers_

_???  the football player ???_

_yeah_

Bucky was already typing in an explanation when Clint texted,

_dooood you hittin that?_

Bucky grinned.

_sorta_

_no sorta, tell me deets_

_we’re kinda dating... we kissed at the halloween party_

_dooooooooooood_

For a second, Bucky closed his eyes and remembered how it had felt then.  The gentle press of Steve’s lips against his.  How hesitant they both had been.  When his phone dinged with a new text message, Bucky suddenly realized that he was holding his phone inches from his face and using the pad of his thumb to rub his lip.  He cleared his throat and looked at the screen.

_y u no tell me doood, jk i prob should have noticed_

_don’t worry about it_

_k but like whoa n hes living at ur house???_

_just until the funeral_

_wtf thats cray_

_i’ll be back to school tomorrow probably, i don’t know my mom will let me skip 2 days_

_ok good, bc that girl kate keeps doggin me and nat’s def broken up w bruce_

Bucky sighed, but with a little smile.  So that’s why Clint was texting him.

_have you made your move yet?_

_nah imma take my time, dont wanna be a rebound_

_good for you_

_yeah so i’ll catch you up tomorrow_

_school 3 days in a row?  srsly?_

_ya u know it_

***

“I just think,” Mrs. Barnes said, measuring her words, “that it would be a good idea.”

Bucky sighed and draped himself over the counter.  “But Mom, he’s been sleeping all day.  He’s tired.”

“And it’s nearly three o’clock.  He’s had plenty of time to sleep.” 

He sighed again, and his mom came over and draped herself on top of him, then kissed his ear.  “Just go wake him up and ask him.”

“Fine,” he said.  He twisted himself away and slumped up the stairs. 

For a while he just stared at the closed door to the guest room.  Finally he lifted up his fist and knocked.

“Come in.”  Steve’s voice sounded paper-thin and tired.  Bucky eased the door open and poked his head in, before seeing that Steve was lying on the bed in his clothes. 

“Um, hi,” Bucky said, stepping into the room.  “How are you doing?”

Steve answered that with the shrug of one shoulder.

“Um, so my mom thinks it would be a good idea if you went to your therapy session today.  If we went to our therapy sessions.  Uh, I mean, if you want to go, maybe it would be a good idea.  To have someone to talk to.”  When Steve didn’t respond, Bucky kept going.  “I mean, I don’t especially want to go.  I’m kinda pissed at Dr. Hill, actually, so if you don’t want to go I’m perfectly okay with it.”

Steve didn’t move. 

Bucky’s chest hurt.  Steve wasn’t even crying.  Just staring at the wall.  What hurt the most was that Bucky knew exactly how he felt.  Which was why he backed up, closed the door, and then climbed up on the bed behind Steve and lay down, pressing his body up against Steve’s back.

Once again it was the wrong side.  His arm was on the mattress side.  But he could creep his hand up under Steve’s armpit, and press his cheek into Steve’s spine, and let Steve know he was still here.

Steve’s breath hitched.  Bucky hadn’t even gotten his arm all the way under Steve’s hulking frame before Steve rolled over, and then Bucky was enveloped.

It wasn’t just a hug.  It was more like in the hospital bathroom, when Steve started kissing him.  Only less pleasant.  Bucky tolerated it for a little while, the wet mouth sucking at his neck, how tight he was being squeezed, until Steve’s grip on his shoulder really started to hurt, and then he said, “Steve, stop it.”  The words were muffled by Steve’s shirt.  Twisting his neck, he got a little more air.  “Steve.  Steve, stop.”

Steve stopped.  Now he lay like a dead weight on Bucky’s chest. 

“Yeah, I think we should go to therapy,” Bucky said.

***

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about today?" Dr. Hill asked.

Bucky glared at her as she nonchalantly organized her notepad and papers.  When his silence had gone on long enough, she finally looked up at him. 

"Are we back at this point again?" she asked.

"You said this was confidential," he said, even though he had told himself he wasn't going to say a single word. 

"It is."  She sounded surprised, and sat back in her chair.  "As I told you in the beginning, everything is confidential unless I feel you are a danger to yourself or others." 

"So what's so dangerous about me not wanting to learn how to drive?" he demanded.

Finally something clicked in Dr. Hill's brain.  "Ah.  Your mother did call me about that."

"Yeah, and I had another panic attack thanks to you."  Or more like three panic attacks, if you counted the car ride this morning. 

"James, I assure you, your mother called me, but I did not divulge any information about our sessions."

Bucky tried to remember exactly what his mother had said.  "She said she called you and you said I had to 'face my fears' or something horseshit like that."

"I advised her to discuss the idea of driving with you.  And I strongly suggested that she schedule a time when the three of us might sit down and talk about it, if she felt the need for a mediated discussion."  Dr. Hill watched his expression so closely he couldn't even look at her.  "Did she tell you something else?"

"Yeah, she did."  As the words dropped out of his mouth, he felt a stinging behind his eyes.

"Did your mother drive you here today?  Is she in the waiting room?"

"No, I walked here," Bucky mumbled.

"Okay.  Here's what we can do.  We can discuss how this whole incident made you feel, and I can call your mother so the three of us can meet.  Or, I can call her right now and see if she can come in for the latter half of this session.  What do you want to do?"

His hand was curled into a fist and pressed into his thigh. 

"James, it's your choice.  How would you like to handle this?"

He sighed and let his hand fall open.  "I guess we can schedule another time."

"And would you like to talk about what happened now?"

"Yeah.  Well.... yeah."

"You sound hesitant.  Is there something else going on you'd rather talk about?"

Bucky sighed again and looked out the window.  "Um, my friend Steve's mom just died."

Dr. Hill settled back in her chair.  "I'm sorry to hear that.  I'm guessing that brought up some feelings for you."

"Yeah.  She had cancer."  With every breath Bucky felt how much closer he was to crying.  "I wish..."  Nope, he couldn't say that.  Not without letting loose a torrent of tears he didn't know if he'd be able to hold back.  But Dr. Hill waited.  And when he was finally able to swallow past the lump in his throat, he said, "I wish _I'd_ had the chance to say good-bye."

***

When he walked out after his session, Bucky felt much better.  Sure, he had puffy red eyes and was still sniffling a little bit, but he felt better.  He only hoped that Steve would feel better after his session. 

But when Steve emerged from Dr. Fury’s office, he had the same flat look on his face he’d had on the walk to therapy.  He definitely hadn’t been crying like Bucky had.  Now Bucky felt stupid and he ducked his head and rubbed his eyes again. 

On the plus side, Steve didn’t look like he noticed. 

“Do you mind if we swing by the hospital before we head home?” Bucky asked.  He winced on the word home.  It wasn’t Steve’s home.  “I just have to get my bike.”  He probably shouldn’t have mentioned the hospital either, but it was only a ten-minute walk there from here, and if he waited until tomorrow morning, he’d either have to get up early to make the half hour walk, or get a ride from his mom and then go after school.

Steve didn’t answer.  He just followed Bucky when Bucky turned in the opposite direction after exiting the building.

“I can give you a ride back,” Bucky said.  He still remembered the feel of Steve holding onto him that time.  Maybe if Steve held onto him, it would break through this weird wall of silence. 

At least there was a lot of traffic at this hour, so the silence wasn’t completely unbearable.  Bucky found himself walking faster than normal, so fast that he was feeling winded by the time they headed up the sidewalk that led to the emergency room entrance.  It wasn’t him trying to outpace the silence, however.  Steve was the one walking fast, with his head down. 

As Bucky unlocked his bike, he kept glancing at Steve.  Steve was standing with his back to the hospital building.  That made sense, he didn’t want any reminders of his mother.  But when Bucky rolled his bike over, Steve just started walking.  “Do you want a ride?” Bucky called.   By the time he hopped on, Steve was already at the main street.

So he kept pace with Steve’s speedwalking, and when they got back to Bucky’s house and Steve went upstairs and shut himself up in the guest room again, Bucky tried to tell himself that none of this meant Steve didn’t like him anymore. 

He just wished Steve would let him in.


	20. Chapter 20

After dinner, Bucky went back upstairs and stood there looking at Steve’s door.  Steve hadn’t answered when he’d knocked to tell him about dinner.  “He hasn’t eaten all day,” Bucky worried out loud to his mother.   

“Give him time,” Mrs. Barnes said.

If Bucky hadn’t been so worried about Steve, he probably would have taken his dinner up to his room rather than stay down here with his mom.  “But he needs to eat.  I don’t think he’s eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.”

“Tomorrow morning we’ll make sure he has some breakfast,” she assured him.

Now Bucky just stared at the closed door and all it represented.  Then he dragged himself back to his own room for a while.  When he heard his mom turn on the television downstairs, he got up and went back into the hallway.  He held his ear close to the guest room door and listened.  He heard nothing.  He knocked softly, so his mom wouldn’t hear.

“Steve?” he asked.

***

He heard, but he couldn’t get up.  His body felt like a stone, permanently rooted into the mattress.   

If only Bucky would just come into the room, like before... If Bucky would just hold him...

But Bucky didn’t come in.   

***

Bucky woke up around two in the morning.  He wasn’t exactly sure why.  His body seemed to be on alert, and he sat up and listened hard to figure out what had woken him.

A sound, coming from the guest room.

Easing out of bed, Bucky went to the door of his room and listened in the dark.  He didn’t hear anything now.  Maybe Steve had just been dreaming.

He was about to go back to bed when he heard it again, and immediately he crossed the hall to Steve’s door.

Should he knock?  He had already lifted his hand so that his knuckles were poised to do just that.  But when he heard the noise again, he just opened the door.

Steve was sitting up on the bed in the dark, a hulking shape that shook slightly.  Then that weird strangled sound.

Bucky didn’t say anything.  What was there to say?  He went to Steve’s side and put his arm around Steve’s back and leaned on him.   

***

Before Bucky opened his eyes, he thought he was in a hospital bed, with his mother at his side, stroking his face.  But when he opened his eyes, he realized he wasn’t lying down.  He was in Steve’s room, still leaning on Steve.  Only now Steve had his arms around Bucky, and he was stroking Bucky’s face.

He closed his eyes again, hoping Steve hadn’t seen that Bucky was awake.

Steve’s arm was holding him up, and his other hand was holding Bucky’s head to his shoulder.  His thumb was what was running over Bucky’s cheek, over the cheekbone, where there wasn’t any stubble.   

With his eyes closed, he imagined they were in a place where nothing bad had ever happened.  Steve was out, Bucky still had his other arm, and they were just two people in love.

It was too bright in the room.  Bucky’s eyes wouldn’t stay shut.  The red numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand told him he had about five minutes more to sleep before he had to start getting ready for school.

Bucky cleared his throat.  “Morning,” he whispered.

Steve didn’t say anything.  The thumb kept stroking, though, and Bucky realized suddenly that he had a boner.  He usually woke up with one, which was why he hadn’t noticed right away.  But now Steve was holding him.  Bucky’s hand, which had drooped down to Steve’s waist while he’d slept, now tightened.

The thumb stopped, just for a second.  Then Steve’s hand exerted a pressure that tilted Bucky’s head up.

They looked at each other.

Steve’s eyes had dark circles under them, and they were puffy from crying, though not red.  The worst part, Bucky thought, was how dead they looked.  How empty.

He’d do anything to change the expression on Steve’s face.

So he leaned over, and cautiously, watching Steve’s expression to make sure this was something he wouldn’t mind, Bucky kissed him.  Not like how Steve had kissed him yesterday, or at the hospital.  Just a little kiss.  Soft.  Pulling away immediately, searching to see if there was any spark of life on Steve’s face.   

Then another kiss.  And another.

Nothing about Steve’s expression said he didn’t want Bucky kissing him.  But nothing said he wanted Bucky to keep kissing him.  _One more_ , Bucky told himself.  One more, and then he’d stop being selfish and leave Steve alone.   

Only this time, Steve’s arms tightened around him, and Bucky couldn’t just pull away.  And that was okay.   

Bucky parted his lips and tested how Steve liked that.  Then they were tasting each other’s morning breath and Bucky twisted a little, rubbed himself on Steve’s hip a little.  Steve gripped him tighter.  His hand was hovering near the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants.  Just an inch lower, Bucky thought, a couple of inches.

In the other room, his alarm went off.

Bucky jumped away while Steve just sat there, his arms empty.  "I have to..." Bucky started to say, then ran out to shut off his alarm, trying not to sound like he was running.  His mother was already awake, she would be downstairs getting ready for work.  He could already smell the coffee.  Was his mom going to work, and Bucky going to school, and Steve would be alone in the house all day?   

He shut off his alarm and hurried back to the guest room.  Steve hadn't moved.

Bucky stood in front of Steve.  Put his hand on Steve's shoulder.  "Will you come have breakfast?" he asked.

Steve wasn't looking at him.  "I'm not hungry," Steve said.

So Bucky bent over and tried to look in Steve's eyes.  His arm went around to rest on the back of Steve's neck.  "Please, Steve.  You need to eat."

Finally, finally, Steve met Bucky's eyes.  Bucky's heart twisted in his chest at the sight of them.  Steve didn’t say anything.  Bucky let his hand slide down Steve's shoulder, down to hold his hand, and tugged.  Steve's fingers squeezed his.  And he stood up.  He didn't let go of Bucky's fingers until they reached the kitchen.

"Good morning, boys," Mrs. Barnes said warmly.   

"Morning," Bucky said.  He squeezed Steve's hand a bit, but Steve's hand had started to slip away.  He drifted toward the kitchen table, where he sat down and stared at the surface.

"What do you want to eat?" Bucky asked, going to the cabinets to get his favorite cereal.  Steve shrugged.  "Is cereal okay?  Do you want something else?  Oatmeal, toast... Pop-Tarts?"   

He would have offered to cook up some eggs, but then Steve mumbled, "Cereal's fine."

"Okay."  So Bucky poured two bowls of cereal.   

And though Steve barely ate any of his, Bucky felt better that he was eating _something_.

***

Two missed calls from Sharon.  A dozen texts.  Steve listened to the first message – “Steve, are you okay?  Let me know if you need anything.  _Anything_.  You know my parents wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us, they’d love to have you.  Call me when you get this.  _Please_.”  Steve deleted that first message and the second message without listening to it.

He didn’t have his phone charger.  He knew he could probably use Bucky’s, they both had iPhones.  But he didn’t care.  There wasn’t anybody he wanted to call.  Or text.   

The house was quiet.  Bucky had gone to school, even though he’d tried to convince his mother to let him stay home another day.  And Mrs. Barnes had gone to work shortly after Bucky had taken off on his bike.  “Steve, are you sure you’re okay to be here by yourself?  We can call Allison.”

“I’ll be okay,” he told her.  Where had he managed to scrape that bit of energy to put on his old Steve Rogers mask?  “I’m still really tired.”

“Okay.”  She was dubious.  “You have Allison’s number, just in case?”  She also wrote down her work and cell phone numbers and stuck them up on the fridge with a magnet.   

There wasn’t anybody he wanted to call.

***

“Bucky?”

Clint raised his eyebrows sky-high.  He’d been in the middle of telling Bucky all about how Natasha had come into Subway yesterday afternoon to talk with Clint and how Kate had also been there and how the two girls had gotten to talking and there had been a rush and he hadn’t been able to catch what they were talking about, only that Bruce was noticeably missing from the group of football players and Nat and Kate kept glancing over at him.

Now Clint gave Bucky a wide-eyed look and finally shrugged off his jacket as Sharon approached them.

“Hey,” Bucky said to her.

“Oh, my god.  Have you heard anything from Steve?” she asked.  “I’ve been calling him and texting him and he hasn’t answered and he was absent yesterday...”  She paused, maybe realizing then that Bucky had also been absent yesterday.

“Um, yeah.  His mom, uh, passed.  Monday night.  Or Tuesday morning, I guess.”

“Are you serious?”  Sharon whipped out her phone and her thumbs tapped out a text message.  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.  Were you still there, at the hospital?  Have you heard from him?”

Bucky scratched at the back of his head.  “Uh, he’s staying with me and my mom.  Until the funeral.”

Sharon stopped typing and stared at him.   

“Yeah.  He’s not doing so great,” he told her.  “He hasn’t really talked much.”

“Well, obviously he’s _upset_ ,” Sharon snapped.  “God.  You have my phone number, you couldn’t have texted me to tell me?  Wait – he didn’t come to school today, did he?”

“No, he stayed home.”

“By _himself_?”

Bucky glared at her.  “Yeah, by _himself_.  He didn’t want to go to school.  His mom just died.”

“Do you really think that’s what he needs right now, to be all alone?  I’m just assuming your mom didn’t call out of work to stay home with him.”  Sharon huffed.  “I told Steve he could stay at my house.  My mom doesn’t work, she would have been there for him.”

“Fuck off, Sharon,” Bucky snapped.  He launched off the lockers and stormed off into the sea of students.  God, he thought Sharon was getting better.  But no.  Making it sound like his mom didn’t care because she had to work?  His fist shot out and smashed into a locker.  Yeah, not a good idea.  He shoved his fist into his pocket and glared at the wide-eyed freshman staring at him.  Making him question whether she was right.  Whether Steve would have been better off staying at Sharon’s house.  Probably, yeah.  Steve had known Mr. and Mrs. Carter for years.  Even if he wasn’t dating their daughter anymore, he knew them.  He didn’t know Bucky’s mom.   

He arrived at his chemistry class and sat heavily in his seat.  The girl next to him looked over with her lips twisted up, and not-so-subtly shifted her chair away from him.   

Maybe he should have just let Steve go to the group home.  Maybe that would have been better.

Except then he might not ever have seen Steve again.

He thought of Steve home alone.  Class started, and Bucky didn’t even bother to take notes.  Whenever he closed his eyes, he pictured Steve lying on his side on the guest bed, still in the same clothes from two days ago.  Chemistry class wasn’t even half over and Bucky was itching to get out of there.  Watching the clock was torture.  Finally he raised his hand.

“May I please go to the bathroom?”

***

Silence.  All the neighbors were off to work and school and Steve was here.  The refrigerator hummed downstairs.  The heat clicked on and blew through the vents and then turned off again.

He stared at the paint on the wall.  He had a feeling Bucky’s mom had painted this room herself, because of the little spots where the white trim on the windows had bled onto the green wall paint.  Maybe Mr. Barnes had been alive when they’d done up this room.  No, wait.  Bucky used to have a sister.  There were pictures of her downstairs.  Had this been her room?

Steve sat up then, and ran into the bathroom and threw up.   

He knew he shouldn’t have eaten breakfast.  It had sat like lump in his stomach all morning.  Throwing up made him feel better.  Now he was empty again.  That felt right, too.   

How had Mrs. Barnes been able to do that?  To clean out her daughter’s room, and change it, erase the memories of her?  At first, Steve almost couldn’t breathe, trying to imagine changing his mother’s room.  But then he realized it would better that way.  Once everything that reminded him of his mother had been removed, the room would just be a room.  There wouldn’t be any painful memories when he entered it.   

Unfortunately, he’d have to strip down his entire house to rid himself of the memories.  He’d have to knock down walls so that not even the shape of the rooms remained to remind him.  

He pushed himself up off the toilet and sucked up a mouthful of water from the tap, gargled, spit out the taste of bile.  When he looked at himself in the mirror he saw a stranger.  Dead eyes, hollow cheeks, gray skin.  Taking up a wash cloth, he tried to erase himself.  Still the same.  He sighed and shuffled back into the guest room.  No, he couldn’t stay here.

Downstairs, then.  Unlike the living room in his own house, the Barnes' living room looked lived in.  He sat down on the couch and pulled an afghan over himself and lay down.  The couch was microfiber, and the pillow felt soft against his face.  The remote was right there, on the coffee table.  He clicked on the television.  Sound filled the room.  It was some soap opera.  He didn't really care what it was.  He closed his eyes.   

The doorbell rang.  

It seemed that in the blink of closing his eyes and opening them again, some time had passed.  The television was playing a talk show now.  

He considered not answering the door.  Who could it possibly be?  A delivery person?  Allison?  He didn't want to talk to either one of those options.  He supposed he should answer the door if it was Allison. Maybe she had a new option for him.  He sat up, swung his legs off the couch, pushed himself up, shuffled to the door.

Not Allison.

Sharon, Bruce, and Thor.

Shit.

"Steve!" Sharon said, throwing her arms around his waist and effectively pushing him back into the house so Bruce and Thor could step inside.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said.

He couldn't look up at Bruce or Thor.  All he could see was their shuffling feet.

"Geez, man," Thor said.  "We had no idea your mom was sick."

"Yeah," said Bruce.  "I wish you would've told us."

Sharon finally let him go, perhaps sensing how he wasn't really hugging her back.  "Are you here all alone?  Why don't you come stay at my house?  My mom's there all day."

"I don't get why you're staying here," Bruce said.

"I get it," Sharon said quickly.  "I mean, I understand you wanting to be with someone who understands what it's like to lose a parent.  But you shouldn't be alone right now."

"I'm okay," Steve said.  No one seemed to hear him.

"So, like, what would make you feel better?  Wanna go have some drinks at my place?" Bruce asked.

"Bruce," Sharon said.  "That's a terrible idea."

Bruce shrugged.  "I'm gonna get it from my dad for skipping school, might as well have some fun while I'm at it."

"No," Sharon said firmly, and Steve felt a wave of relief.  "I was thinking we could all go to my place, and my mom can make Steve whatever he wants to eat, and we can just relax."  She looked at him, and the relief was gone.  "How does that sound?"

"I'm okay staying here," Steve said.

"By yourself?  No."  Sharon stopped herself.  "Okay, fine.  We'll all hang out here."

Steve looked back at the couch where he'd been sleeping just a few minutes ago.  The perfect kind of sleep too, the drop down into nothing.  Blessed, unfeeling nothing.

"I knew this was gonna be awkward," said Thor.

"Hey, man, don't be rude," Bruce said to him.  "Steve's our friend.... Oh, man, this is going to be awkward."

Steve finally heard what Bruce and Thor had already seen through the storm door: the sound of a bicycle being tossed onto the grass, and feet coming up the stairs.  

"What are _you_ doing here?" Bucky demanded as he yanked the door open.


	21. Chapter 21

Bruce Banner.  In his fucking house.  This was not happening.

"Steve's our friend," Bruce said, a growl in his voice.  "Fuck you, kid.  He should be staying with one of us."

"Kid?  We're in the same fucking grade," Bucky spat out. 

If only he could just blurt out that Steve was his boyfriend.  If only.  Bucky looked at Steve, who looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor.

"Whoa, guys, let's not do this," said Thor, stepping between them.

"You taking his side?" Bruce growled.

"Maybe you two should go outside," said Sharon.

"This is my house!" Bucky yelled. _God, please don't start crying_ , he told himself.  He couldn't even get through the wall of jock to properly enter his own home.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to take a deep breath to calm himself.  It helped, when he opened his eyes, to focus on Steve. 

Steve didn't need his friends brawling.  Bucky knew he'd made a mistake, storming in like he did, it was just that the sight of Bruce's stupid car in his driveway had made him go red.  Steve looked like he wanted to be a part of the wall, and that made Bucky feel extra horrible about getting pissed at Sharon and Bruce, who were Steve’s friends and just wanted to help him, after all.

He took a step back, which meant the door was pressing into his spine.  “I’m sorry,” he said, still unable to look at any of them.  “Steve, I don’t mind if your friends stay here.  Or if—” His throat closed up a little, and he had a wait a second to finish saying, “If you want to go with them.”

***

They were all looking at him.  He couldn't just tell them to go away, even if that's what he wanted to do.  When he didn't answer, Sharon touched his arm.  "Let's just go sit down for a while," she said quietly.  "Watch some TV or something."

Her slight touch led him to the couch.  He sat down heavily in the middle, and then Sharon sat on one side, while Thor sat on the other – not too close – and Bruce sat in the armchair at Thor's end.  Bucky sat down on the other armchair, at Sharon's end, and after a second, pulled out his phone and texted someone.

Steve watched him, wishing it was Bucky at his side rather than Thor. He didn't mind Sharon. He would have wished for only Bucky, and then they could have sat next to each other on the couch and watched "Brokeback Mountain" again, only this time Steve could put his arm around Bucky instead of just sitting uncomfortably, barely touching.

Although, even if Bucky was beside him right now, he couldn't have done any of that. Not in front of Bruce and Thor. He knew Bruce's anger at Bucky just now wasn't really Bucky's fault.  No, Bruce was already angry because Steve hadn't told him about his mom. If Bruce discovered that Steve had hidden anything else from him, he'd have a meltdown. Which seemed unfair, because it wasn't like Bruce was his best friend or anything. 

Thor, on the other hand, had gotten quiet.  Steve knew Thor was hurt about the whole thing as well.  And he felt really bad about that.  He did call Thor his best friend.

“Wow, you can text really fast with one hand,” said Bruce.

Through the hair that had fallen into his face, Bucky glared.  “Yeah.  I’m super talented.”

Was Steve supposed to be the one making conversation here?  He couldn’t think of anything to say. 

“Okay, so, does anyone want anything to drink?” Bucky stood up.

“I’ll have some milk,” said Thor.  No one else said anything.

“O-kay,” said Bucky, and left the room.

Beside him, Sharon sighed.  “I’m sorry, Steve.  I’m sorry about your mom.  And I’m sorry if you don’t want us here.  I wish you would have texted me back.  I was really worried.”

Steve moved his hand from between his knees over to her hand and held it.  He opened his mouth to explain about how his phone was dead, but the words wouldn’t come out.  His throat felt too tight.

“My grandmother died of cancer,” said Bruce.  “I guess you kind of have to look at it like, at least she’s not in pain anymore.”

“That’s right,” said Sharon.  “She’s in a better place.”

It was a surreal moment, hearing these platitudes, and knowing that his friends really meant them, and truly felt empathy for him, and all the while Steve kept thinking about how his mother wasn’t in a better place.  She should have been here, with him, living the rest of a long and happy life.  Not dead at thirty-eight years old.  It wasn’t right.  And yeah, now she was out of pain, and he was glad for that.  But why were these people telling him that he should be happy to be seventeen and alone?

Bucky hadn’t said any of these things, Steve remembered, as Bucky came back into the room with a big glass of milk for Thor.  Bucky knew how it was.  And it was worse for him, because people wouldn’t have even said all that junk about pain.  What happened to Bucky’s dad, and his sister, was a terrible tragedy.  What happened to Bucky was a terrible tragedy, too.  At least Steve still had both his arms. 

He started to cry.

He’d gotten so good at crying quietly that all he had to do was slip his hand out of Sharon’s and sink his head down into his hands.  He didn’t make any of the awful sobbing sounds he’d made at the hospital.  When Sharon started rubbing his back, Steve remembered how Bucky had just held him and said, “I’m here.”  Because he knew.  There wasn’t anything else he could say that would help.

Bucky was here, and so were Steve’s other friends, and no one knew that Steve was really crying because he’d just made himself feel better by thinking of how worse off Bucky was.  All this time, Bucky had been trying to take care of him and protect him, and Bucky was the one who needed it more. 

***

The day just couldn’t get any worse.  He’d skipped school, which he had never actually done before.  But instead of spending the day alone with Steve, he had to play host with his arch nemesis. 

He’d known his mom would be pissed that he skipped school.  He knew she’d be more pissed to come home and find half the senior class in the house.  So he’d texted her and explained what was going on.  Yeah, she was pissed.  He apologized and later she sent a text saying she had called the school to excuse his absence. 

Luckily, Sharon, Bruce, and Thor had gone long before his mom got home.  “We can stay as long as you need us,” Sharon had said, but by then they’d been sitting in the living room for over an hour and Steve hadn’t really said much, so they decided they might as well head back to school.  “Please call me if you need anything.  _Please_.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Bucky had mumbled as she passed by him. 

She just gave him a sad little smile and said, “Take care of him, okay?”

And now it was the two of them.  Seeing Steve there, on the couch, still crying, made him want to call the others back.  “Help him,” he wanted to tell them.  “I don’t think I know how.”

Or maybe he did, because when he sat down next to Steve, Steve uncurled himself and wrapped Bucky up in a huge hug.  Bucky didn’t say anything, and neither did Steve, and by the time Mrs. Barnes got home from work, the two of them were wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, with Steve spooning Bucky, watching TV. 

After that, it seemed like Steve didn’t want to let him go.  Steve kept a hand on him even during dinner – they couldn’t hold hands, not if Bucky wanted to eat, but under the table, Steve gripped Bucky’s thigh.  With relief, Bucky watched Steve eat all the chicken pot pie on his plate.  Even while they did the dishes, Steve stood close enough for their elbows to be constantly touching.

Bucky knew his mom would never allow him to sleep in Steve’s bed with him.  As soon as Bucky peeled himself away from Steve so that they could go to bed, Steve’s shoulders caved in, and he stared at the floor as he shuffled into the guest room. 

Steve needed him. 

It felt like his mom would never go to bed.  He lay under his covers listening to whatever edition of CSI she was watching and waiting for it to end.  Finally the television went silent and the stairs creaked as she walked up.  Bucky rolled over and stared at his clock, wondering how long it might be before she was actually asleep.

He waited half an hour.  Too long, he thought.  He tiptoed across the hall and opened Steve’s door without knocking.  “Hey,” he said after he’d closed it, breathing the word.

Steve immediately rolled onto his back, and lifted the covers, and Bucky climbed into his arms, which then wrapped around him like a human blanket.

It felt nice, being held.  They didn’t kiss, even though their faces were close enough that Bucky could smell the minty-toothpaste of Steve’s breath on his cheek.  The dark wrapped around them, too.  In Steve’s arms, Bucky felt all the tension of the day drain out of him.  He suddenly realized how much he had been craving touch, these two years since the accident.  He had felt so ugly and damaged.  The day had turned from what could have been potentially awful – fighting with Bruce and Sharon – to this.

Face pressed against Steve’s chest, Bucky closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he whispered into Steve’s t-shirt.  “Almost getting into a fight with Bruce, I mean.”

“It’s okay,” Steve murmured.

“I was kind of a dick to Sharon too.  At school.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said again.

“Was it weird, your friends finding out about your mom?”

For a long moment, Steve didn’t answer, and Bucky was afraid that he would slip back into silence again.  “Yeah,” Steve said finally, and Bucky exhaled relief.  “I should have told them.  I think... I was so scared that I was alone, that I made myself be alone.”

“Dr. Hill says that’s a ‘self-fulfilling prophecy,’” Bucky whispered.

Steve breathed out a little laugh, then his chest rose and fell evenly again.  “They’re good friends,” he said.

Bucky had a question, and he wasn’t sure it was the right time to ask it, even though it seemed the darkness and quiet made the conversation seem more like it was happening in his head and not out loud.  So he asked a different question.  “Are you still scared about being alone?”

In the space before Steve answered, Bucky felt the arms around him tighten.  “Yeah.”

By the way Steve was breathing, Bucky knew he was fighting back the tears, or maybe he was crying the same silent way he cried earlier.  He waited until it passed. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve said into Bucky’s hair, before Bucky could say anything else.

“I’m glad you’re here, too.”


	22. Chapter 22

On Thursday morning, Bucky awoke with a start.  Shit.  He was still in Steve’s bed. 

He had heard his mother heading downstairs.  Since he usually slept with his bedroom door closed, she would have seen that it was open.  Which meant that Bucky would be in trouble.

Maybe not.  She hadn’t said anything about him skipping school yesterday, probably because Steve had been glued to his side all evening.  And she’d never specifically told him he couldn’t sleep with Steve.  It wasn’t like Bucky and Steve had been doing anything other than sleeping.  They hadn’t even kissed. 

Bucky smiled a little, and lifted his chin so he could kiss Steve’s chin. 

Steve’s eyes cracked open.  Instead of stretching out like a normal person, Steve gripped Bucky so hard he couldn’t breathe.  “Steve!” he wheezed.

Reluctantly, Steve loosened his grip.  He did not, however, allow Bucky out of his arms.  “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said.  “I have to get up.  Get ready for school.”

Steve’s face took on a far-off expression. 

“I guess I could ask my mom if I can stay home again.  Probably she’ll say no.  Especially after I skipped yesterday.”

Steve looked at him.  “Maybe I should just go back to school.”

“What?”  Bucky wriggled until he could prop himself up on his elbow and look at Steve properly.  “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Without looking at Bucky, Steve said, “It’s probably better for me to just get on with my life.”

“But...” Bucky didn’t know what else to say.  When half his family had died, Bucky had been in the hospital for several months.  For him, there hadn’t been a way to just “get on with his life.”  Everything about his life had changed.  Except that he’d still had a home, and a mother.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Steve. 

With that decided, Steve allowed Bucky to get up, although he followed close at Bucky’s back as they went down to the kitchen.

“Morning,” Bucky said. 

Mrs. Barnes looked up from her smoothie and the magazine she was reading.  “Good... morning.  Steve, you’re up.”

“Steve said he wants to go to school today,” Bucky told her, and glanced back at Steve.  When he reached up to get two bowls for cereal, Steve was right behind him, taking the bowls out of his hand.  Bucky looked back at his mom. 

He wanted her to decide.  For her to say Steve wasn’t ready or something.  But she looked just as unsure as Bucky felt.

“It’s up to you, Steve,” she said finally.  “I would like if you could call your social worker and let her know.  I was a little surprised she didn’t get in touch yesterday.  I don’t know if you can text her or something.”

“My phone’s dead,” Steve said.

The word _dead_ hung heavy in the air.

“You can use the house phone.  Do you need a charger?”

Steve looked at Bucky.  “Can I borrow yours?”

At least Steve was communicating, Bucky told himself, as they ate and got dressed for school.  “Just remember, you can go down and visit the guidance counselor at any time,” Mrs. Barnes told Steve.  “Or you can call me or your social worker to come pick you up.”

This was going to be okay, Bucky had to keep reminding himself.  The November morning had brought a frost, and they both walked with their hands in their pockets.  Bucky wished he’d worn his puffy winter coat instead of the leather jacket. 

But as they drew closer to school, he felt Steve pull away from him.  Just a little bit.  Enough so that Bucky noticed the space between them, and Steve’s friends, who might be milling around in the student parking lot, would, too.

He still remembered Steve words, from before: “I can’t do it now.”

Bucky tried to let it go.  It got harder, when they entered the school hallways and Pepper saw him and ran right over and hugged him.  “Steve, I’m so sorry!” she said.  And Steve hugged her back.  And then Tony Stark was sauntering over, and then Bruce and Thor and Sharon arrived and Bucky had to step aside to make room.

“Dude!” Clint yelped at him, and pulled him off to the side.  “You hangin’ with the jocks now?”

“No,” said Bucky. 

“Man, did you _skip_ yesterday?  I looked for you at lunch.  I had to sit with both Kate and Nat _by myself_.”

“Yeah.  I felt bad for leaving Steve home alone.”

“God, Sharon Carter is so dumb, making you feel bad for that.  Like it was your fault or something.”

Bucky just shrugged.  “It’s fine.”  He didn’t feel like defending Sharon and he didn’t feel like bitching about her, so he changed the subject.  “How did lunch go, then?”

“Like, they’re becoming friends.  I think.  But, like, scary ninja assassin friends who could totally take me down in a fight.”

Leave it to Clint to provide exactly the kind of distraction Bucky needed.  “Ninja assassins?” he repeated, laughing.

“Yeah, dude.  Kate’s dad apparently collects guns.  And she takes fuckin’ archery classes.  And then Natasha started talking about how her dad collects knives and how he taught her how to throw them.  Kate invited us both over to her house after school today so she could show us.  Can you believe she knows how to shoot a gun?”

Bucky tried to imagine preppy Kate Bishop shooting a gun.  Scarily enough, he could, and he imagined she would shoot it with the same precision with which she put together her outfits for school every day.

“You wanna come along?  Should be interesting.”

“I have therapy,” Bucky said, feeling his mood downshift.  Today he and his mom were going to hash it out with Dr. Hill.  _That should be super awesome_.

“It’s kinda weird, having two girls fighting over me.”  Clint didn’t sound like he thought it was weird at all.  He sounded like he thought it was cool.  Bucky had to smile at that, but found himself looking over toward Steve.  He was completely surrounded by all his friends now.  Bucky could barely see Steve’s blond hair poking up over the other jocks.

“Yo, you hear me?” Clint asked, snapping his fingers in front of Bucky’s face.

Steve had his friends now.  He didn’t need Bucky there to complicate things.  “Yeah, I’m listening,” Bucky said.

***

So many people.  As soon as Steve stepped into the school building, he knew he’d made a mistake.  A worse mistake than being alone all day at the Barnes’ house?  He did his best to smile at all the friends who he hadn’t even trusted to talk to about his mother’s illness.  Of course, no one expected him to smile, so that part wasn’t too bad.  “I can’t believe you’re back at school,” said Tony.  “You could take off a week, easy.”

“I’d rather stay busy,” Steve said.  “Not think about it.”

That was true.  A little bit true.  He had hoped he could just walk into school and be mostly invisible, like usual.  He could pretend nothing had happened.  But everyone knew. 

He didn’t know where Bucky had gone.  When he looked around, he saw Bucky talking to Clint Barton by the lockers, laughing, and then he wished he hadn’t looked.  Suddenly he just wanted to go to the guidance counselor’s office and cry. 

“You okay?” Sharon asked.

Never had he been so grateful for Sharon’s clinginess.  “Um,” he said, and it was all he had to say, because his voice wobbled and Sharon took charge.

“Okay, guys,” Sharon announced.  “Steve needs to go down to the office to clear some stuff up.”

The crowd – there was a crowd around him – parted, but even when he’d gotten through the thick of people, he didn’t see Bucky again.

***

When Steve didn’t show up to English class second period, Bucky freaked out a little.  He had purposely rushed from Computer Science so he might have a chance to check in with Steve before Mr. Dugan started class.  Instead he sat at his desk tapping his feet nervously, staring at Steve’s empty desk.  When Sharon sauntered in just before the best, Bucky could have launched himself over his fellow classmates and throttled her.

The bell rang; still no sign of Steve.  So Bucky slipped his phone out of his pocket and hid it under his desk and texted Steve.

_where are you?_

And then he texted Sharon. 

_do you know where Steve is?_

Of course she wasn’t going to answer a text in the middle of class.  Bucky exhaled and put his phone away before Mr. Dugan saw it and confiscated it. 

It was hard to try to get Sharon’s attention from the back of the room.  He tried making some random noises, tapping his pen, moving the desk so it scraped across the floor.  Mr. Dugan gave him a few annoyed looks but otherwise ignored him.

He could feel his heart speeding up.  What if Steve had just gone home?  What if Steve was in the bathroom, crying?  Considering how Sharon had been stuck up Steve’s butt yesterday and this morning, Bucky had a feeling she knew where Steve was.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so freaking calm and collected right now.  Was this payback for not telling her about Steve’s mom? 

He really hoped not.  Steve seemed to think Sharon was such a great girl, and after everything, Bucky felt like he and Sharon had come to some kind of understanding.  He wanted an answer _now_.  Not at the end of class.  His heart thudded in that weird way that reminded him of the panic attacks he’d had in the car, and suddenly he started to panic that he was having a panic attack.  He could even hear his breath rasping down the back of his throat. 

_Please God no_

And then Mr. Dugan said a sentence that made Bucky want to submit his name for sainthood: “Let’s take some time to work on our group projects.”

Bucky launched out of his chair on shaking legs and shoved his way over to Sharon’s desk.  “Where’s Steve?” he asked.  His voice came out too high, and he heard a girl he’d basically body-checked behind him say, “Rude!”

“He’s in guidance,” she said. Then she asked, “Are you okay?”

He let his legs collapse into Steve’s empty chair.  “Yes.  Yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Rhodey stepped between them to sit at the desk behind Bucky.  “I was hoping Steve would be here,” Rhodey said.  “This project is due on Monday and we still haven’t seen any of the final pages yet.”

Bucky blinked at him. 

“Steve’s mom just died,” Sharon told him quietly.

“Oh,” said Rhodey.  “Oh.”

“I know he was working on them.  We were working on them, together,” Bucky said in the wake of Rhodey’s stunned silence.  “I think they’re mostly finished.”

“Mostly?”  Now Rhodey looked alarmed.  “Will he be back in school before Monday?  Or can we ask for an extension?  Do you have the finished pages with you?” he asked Bucky.

“Uh, no.  They’re at my house, though.  I can bring them in tomorrow.”

“Maybe we should ask for an extension,” Sharon said.  “I mean, just in case.”

“Yeah.  Okay.”

Sharon looked over at Mr. Dugan and got his attention, then explained the situation.  Bucky honestly couldn’t remember if the pages were at his house or at Steve’s.  Everything had gotten so crazy.  He was most definitely sure that the pages were not finished.

“This is why I hate group projects,” Rhodey was muttering to himself, or maybe to Bucky.   

“I can work on them tonight,” Bucky said, maybe a little too sharply, because Mr. Dugan straightened up.

“Mr. Barnes, no one is accusing you of anything,” he said.

Bucky looked down at Steve’s desk and ran his fingernail along a deep scratch that someone had filled in with a blue ink pen.  “Sorry.”

“I understand that one of your group members is having a family emergency, but there are four of you.  Three of you are _not_ having a family emergency.  I would suggest that you three try to complete this project by Monday _without_ Steve, and if that should prove impossible, I’ll reconsider.”

“It’s just that he’s the artist for the comic book,” Sharon said, “And until he does the art, Bucky can’t do the coloring.”

“I see,” said Mr. Dugan.  “In that case, remember this is English class, not art class.  I’d accept incomplete artwork so long as the main ideas are included.”  He looked at each of them.  Bucky didn’t look up when Mr. Dugan came to look at him.  “Okay?”

Bucky mumbled assent along with Sharon and Rhodey.  If at all possible, he felt even worse about the assignment.  Sharon had basically just told Mr. Dugan that Bucky hadn’t had anything to do with the main part of the assignment. 

After Mr. Dugan moved on to the next group, Sharon and Rhodey discussed how they thought the project would probably be okay to hand in on Monday.  “Did Steve finish the rough drawings for all the pages?” Sharon asked.

“I think so,” Bucky mumbled.

“This is a nightmare,” Rhodey said.

“I think it’ll be fine,” Sharon said.  “Bucky will check at home, and we’ll talk to Steve, and if the pages aren’t done, we can make some mock-up pages from our notes.  It’ll be fine.”

Despite Sharon’s words of reassurance, Bucky didn’t feel like it would be fine.  It felt like somehow this whole project was riding on him.  He was the last in the chain, after all.  He couldn’t blame Steve for not completing his part, not with everything he was going through.  Through the rest of class, and his next class, all he could think about were those pages and what had happened to them.  Steve had brought all his schoolwork to Bucky’s house.  The papers must be in there.  Would Steve think he was a jerk if he asked about them after school?  If he tried to get Steve to work on the project with him after school?

He struggled through an essay test in history class, another class he shared with Steve, only Steve didn’t show up and he had forgotten all about the test, which had been announced on Monday, while Bucky had been worrying about Steve being dismissed from English class.  At least it was an essay test, and he didn’t have to worry about the right or wrong answers of multiple choice. 

“Hey, man,” said Clint, coming up behind Bucky at his locker just before lunch.  “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”  Bucky grabbed his lunch bag out of his locker and shut it.

“You sure?”

Bucky looked at Clint.  He suddenly noticed that Clint had a giant bandage on his forehead.  “What happened to your head?”

“You are totally _not_ fine.”

“I _am_ fine!” Bucky snapped, and started walking toward the cafeteria.

“Dude, I saw you in the hallway like five times today.  _I’m_ the deaf one.  You can’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”

“I didn’t see you.”  It wasn’t an excuse, not really.  He tried to remember seeing anyone he knew in the hallways.  Or hearing anyone call his name.  He couldn’t.

“Yeah, ‘cuz you got your head up your ass.”

“Can you just get off my fucking back?”

“Whoa, dude.  I’m just sayin’.”

Bucky knew he should apologize.  Instead he kept walking, faster than he had been before. 

“Hey, man.”  Clint jogged a couple of steps and tugged on Bucky’s sweatshirt to slow him down.  “I’m not criticizing.  I’m just asking what’s wrong, that’s all.”

Finally Bucky slowed down.  He felt everything start to bubble over and he had to gulp down a few breaths to ease back from the edge.  “Sorry,” he said. 

“It’s that guy, isn’t it?  Steve?”

“I’m just worried about him,” Bucky said.  They reached the cafeteria and walked toward their usual table.  “He hasn’t been in any of the classes we have together, and Sharon said he was down in guidance, and... I mean, what if he’d rather go live in a group home than stay at my house?”

It wasn’t until the words left his mouth that he realized that was exactly what he was afraid of.  That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how great it was to wake up in Steve’s arms this morning, that Steve would rather be somewhere else. 

He knew it wasn’t as simple as Steve deciding he didn’t like Bucky, after all.  There were a lot of other factors.  It would still feel like a rejection.

“Okay, I’m gonna put this into perspective,” said Clint.

“Big words,” Bucky said.

Clint lifted his chin.  “I’m feeling insightful.”  Then, more seriously, “Okay, so if I knew some chick for like a week, and I went to live at her house, it would probably be really weird.  Okay?”

“I guess.”  Bucky spied Natasha approaching their table, striding along with her head high, as if she had no idea that Bruce Banner existed or was sitting only a few feet to her right.  Bruce was watching her with a sad expression that almost made Bucky feel bad for him. 

“And, like, if my whole family had just died, too, it would be double weird.”

“Okay, I get it,” Bucky said.  He did understand, he really did.  Still didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Yasha!  I am very happy to see you.”  Nat came right over and hugged him.  The hug went on long enough that Bucky caught a glimpse of Clint’s tortured face, which continued after Nat let go and sat down beside Bucky, leaving the seat on Clint’s other side empty and waiting for Kate to sit in.  “Are you very sick?”

“No, I wasn’t sick,” Bucky told her.  “I, uh... Steve Rogers is staying with me.  At my house.”

“Steve Roger!  It is terrible what happened to his mother, no?  He is a nice boy.”  She started to bite into her sandwich, then paused.  “Yasha, you are friendly with Steve Roger?  I did not know this.”

“Yeah.”

Clint waggled his eyebrows.  “He’s real friendly with Steve Rogers.  Ow.”  That last came from Bucky’s elbow in his ribs.

Natasha tilted her head.  “With Steve Roger?”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Bucky told her.  “We haven’t told anyone.  Except Sharon.”

With a laugh, Natasha took that bite of her sandwich.  There was something about the gleam in Natasha’s eye that reminded Bucky of how Natasha loved gossip.  She never did any gossiping herself.  More that she enjoyed absorbing everyone’s dirty secrets. 

“I don’t get it,” piped up Kate.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint told her.

Bucky stared down at the container of spinach and egg whites in front of him, then at the other container of carrots and hummus.  He didn’t feel very hungry.

“Are you on a diet or something?” asked Kate.

“Nah, his mom’s just a food Nazi,” Clint said, emptying a bag of chips directly into his mouth.

Bucky watched him and gave him a look when he had finished.  The look said, _Real sexy, dude_.  Swallowing, Clint wiped his mouth and glanced at Natasha, then back at Bucky.  Bucky widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows.  _Yeah, she probably thinks you’re a pig_.

Joking around with his friends made him feel a little better, but he still couldn’t eat, not with Steve absent from lunch, too.  He closed up the Tupperware containers and repacked his lunch bag.  “I’m gonna go down to guidance and make sure Steve’s okay.”

“Come on!” Clint said. 

“Will you need help, Yasha?” Nat asked.

“I’ll be okay.”  Bucky slung his messenger bag over his head.  “Just don’t you two gang up on Clint, okay?”  Nat and Kate looked at each other, with amazed, innocent expressions.  “Yeah, he told me all about your weapons training.  Don’t let him get hurt.”  He patted Clint on the side of the head with the bandage.

“Come on, dude,” Clint complained, waving him off.  “Get lost.”

“Text me later,” he said as he headed out of the cafeteria.

“Hold it right there,” said one of the lunch monitors.  “Do you have a pass?”

“I need to go to guidance.”

“It’s an emergency?” the woman asked suspiciously, but then the other lunch monitor came up. Bucky vaguely knew her; when he’d first come back to school after his accident, he’d had to ask her to go to guidance all the time.

“You can’t ask that.  If a student says they need to go to guidance, you just write them a pass.”  She signed off on a pass.  “Here you go, James.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said.  As he left, it amazed him that there was someone here at the school who hadn’t immediately noticed that he was missing an arm, who had treated him with the same suspicion he was sure students like Clint got all the time.  For some reason, that made him smile.


	23. Chapter 23

Ms. May had stayed with him for a while, handing him tissues and offering him a blanket, even though Steve had only cried a little.  “Is there anyone you’d like me to call?” she asked a few times.  Each time, he had shaken his head.

Steve had called Allison before leaving for school, and left a message.  It didn’t really surprise him that she hadn’t answered.  Her job required her to be up at all hours, and quarter of seven in the morning was early for anyone.  She hadn’t called him back yet, also not surprising.  His message had been something like, “I figured I should call and check in.  Um, I guess I should also ask when the funeral is going to be?”

Not exactly anything that was an emergency.  Steve’s case was one of Allison’s easy ones, by what she had told him.  She dealt with a lot of kids who were being abused and who had all kinds of issues and ended up hospitalized.  Steve wasn’t much to worry about. 

Eventually, Ms. May left him alone in her office.  Steve lay down on the small couch and buried his face in his arms.  Being alone here was no better than being alone at Bucky’s house, only there were people right outside and Steve didn’t have a blanket. He wished he could have Ms. May call Bucky down and then Bucky could sit with him in the office.  But he knew he needed to let Bucky do his schoolwork.  No one was going to allow Bucky to use the excuse of, “Well, my friend’s mom died...”  Not in the same way that Steve could probably be excused from the rest of the semester.

_What do my grades matter now_ , he thought miserably.  _Even if I’m valedictorian, it doesn’t mean I’ll be able to afford to go to college._

He had talked to Dr. Fury about this a few weeks ago.  Dr. Fury told him he should meet with his guidance counselor to get information on scholarships and grants available for students in his position.  Orphans.  That’s what he was now.  He could join the ranks of Oliver Twist and Huckleberry Finn and Harry Potter.  Except Harry Potter still had an aunt and uncle.

The first time he had ever met with Allison, he’d been hopeful about a foster family.  He figured there might be some old couple who maybe didn’t have the energy for young foster kids with a zillion issues, but who wouldn’t mind a well-mannered, straight-A, mildly depressed foster kid with only a year before he turned eighteen.  In the year or so since that first meeting, Steve would have thought Allison would have something set up.  Steve could have met them and gotten to know them a little bit before his mom died.  Maybe his new foster parents could have even met his mom.  When Allison started talking about group homes, however, Steve knew he wasn’t going to go live with a nice elderly couple.  Hell, there were cute little toddlers who couldn’t find a foster home.  No one wanted an almost-adult living with them.

It made him feel big and ugly and unwanted, and he wished his mother could have stayed alive, even if she was in a coma, just long enough for him to turn eighteen, which was horrible to even imagine, trying to finish out the rest of junior year with his mom in a coma, never mind trying to work and pay for an apartment and finish high school totally on his own.  Which was what he’d still be trying to do next year, only he’d probably be in some kind of weird “transitional” housing where he’d be forced to have roommates and therapy. 

At this point, he barely even felt the tears that ran down his nose and dripped onto his sleeve and the couch cushions.  His head hurt, a narrow point between his eyebrows, stabbing into his brain.  He wiped off his eyes and rolled onto his side as best he could, folding his legs up and facing the back of the little couch.  Staring at the weave of fabric, he did his best not to think, not about the future or the past or even the right now. 

The walls of Ms. May’s office were thin, and he could hear almost everything going on a few feet away.  He could hear students arriving, some in tears, some needing to discuss college applications, and others who were just running errands for the office or a teacher.  He heard someone who sounded like Bruce Banner mutter something about an appointment, but he couldn’t be sure, as he’d never heard Bruce sound so quiet and unsure. 

The commotion had a nice rhythm and flow to it, lulls and waves, an ambient noise between the bells that marked the end of each class and the beginning of the next.  Steve didn’t really know how long he’d been laying there, in Ms. May’s office.

“Why can’t you tell me?” Bucky’s voice cut through his stupor.

He couldn’t hear the secretary’s response.

“So you can’t even tell me if he’s down here?  I just want to make sure he’s okay.  He’s my friend.”

Steve still couldn’t quite hear the secretary.  The only word he could make out was “confidentiality.”  He struggled to get up off the couch.

“Yeah, I know what that word means,” Bucky snapped.  “If you’d listen to me, you’d know that my mom is basically his legal guardian right now, and he’s living at my house, and if he needs to leave school, I can call—”

Bucky stopped talking, because Steve had opened the door to Ms. May’s office, and Bucky saw him.  With a nasty look back at the secretary, Bucky approached him.  “Are you okay?”

Steve stepped back so Bucky could come into the office with him.

“You can’t go in there,” the secretary said, as Steve closed the door.

“God, I can’t even deal with people,” Bucky said, then took a deep breath and asked, “Are you okay?  Are you hungry?”

For a minute Steve thought about that.  Was he hungry?  He shrugged.

“Steve,” was all Bucky could say before Steve wrapped him up and pulled him down to the couch with him.  “Steve,” Bucky tried again, “you know it’s lunch time?”

“Okay,” Steve said.

Despite Steve’s arms holding him close, Bucky maneuvered his bag open and pulled out a lunch sack and proceeded to pop open a few Tupperware containers. 

“That’s what you bring for lunch?” Steve asked.  When he’d thought of lunch, he had only considered sandwiches or pizza, and the thought of those things made him feel queasy.  What Bucky had here wasn’t going to make him feel full, and it wasn’t going to sit heavy in his stomach.  He picked up a baby carrot and pushed it through the hummus before popping it into his mouth.  The crunch was satisfying. 

“I’m sure my mom packed you something too.”  Bucky took a carrot and ate it after watching Steve devour a few.  And when Steve was done with the carrots, Bucky took a fork out of his lunch bag and handed it over so Steve could shovel the eggs and, “What is this green stuff, spinach?” into his mouth.

“I was worried, when you weren’t in class,” Bucky said finally.

“I thought I could do this.”  Steve knew it wasn’t an apology.  He set the fork down in the empty container on his lap and squeezed Bucky tight.  “I thought it would help.”

“Maybe it did help,” Bucky said.  “You’re eating.  That’s good.”

Steve nodded, and swallowed down the minor nausea that followed.  He rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky rested his head on Steve’s head.

“How long did it take before you felt normal again?” Steve asked.

He felt Bucky stiffen a little against him.  “I... never really felt normal again.”

It took Steve longer than it should have to understand Bucky’s response.  “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.  Another tightening of the hug.  “I forgot.”

Bucky exhaled a little laugh.  “Well, I guess I feel kinda normal right now.”

“I guess I meant more about your dad,” Steve mumbled.  “I didn’t think about... everything.”

“I don’t know.  Sometimes I feel like it’s never going to be normal, ever.  I’m always going to wish he was around.  And Becca.  Like, my mom wouldn’t be up my butt so much if he was around.  He was the one I always talked to about my problems, because he was so... calm, and he let me figure things out on my own.”  Bucky sighed.  “My mom likes to try to control everything.”

“She seems pretty cool to me,” Steve said.

“ _Seems_ cool.  That’s the operative word.”

“Well, not everybody’s mom would let their son’s boyfriend—” Steve’s voice dropped to a whisper for that word, “live with them.  I mean, she’s only met me a couple of times.”

“According to Sharon, everybody’s parents would love to have you live with them.”

He didn’t want to talk about Sharon.  “So what does your mother try to control?”

Bucky moved a little, got himself comfortable.  He sighed.  “She keeps trying to take me driving.”

“Okay...”

Rolling his head, Bucky gave Steve a look.  “My dad and my sister died in a _car_ accident.  I lost my fucking arm in a _car_ accident.”

“Oh.  Right.”  Bucky kept looking at him, and that was when Steve remembered, through the fog of grief, Bucky’s behavior when Mrs. Barnes had driven them home from the hospital.  And how that was the only time he’d ever seen Bucky inside of a moving vehicle.  “Are you... scared... of being in cars?”

Now Bucky rolled his head away, and twitched his shoulders to shrug.  “I keep having panic attacks.”

Steve didn’t know what to say.  He couldn’t imagine having a panic attack over something as routine as being in a car.  All he could do was hug Bucky even tighter, until Bucky laughed and said, “You’re gonna break my ribs!”

Ms. May chose that moment to return to her office.  Steve released Bucky, who fell over and scrambled to keep all the lunch Tupperware from falling off his lap. 

“Well, it seems you have a visitor,” Ms. May commented.  “I trust that means you’re feeling better?”

Steve pressed the lid shut on the last container and handed it over to Bucky.  “I, uh... I guess, a little.”

“Let me write you a pass, then.”  Ms. May pulled out a notepad.  “What’s your fifth period class?”

“Gym,” Bucky answered for him.

Ms. May examined him over the tops of her glasses. “And who might you be?”

“James Barnes.  Uh, Steve’s staying at my house.  Until the funeral.”  Under Ms. May’s unsettling gaze, Bucky couldn’t seem to stop talking.  “I wanted to make sure Steve ate lunch.”

“I see.”  She handed the slip of paper to Steve, and wrote out another.  “And what’s your fifth period class?”

“Same as Steve’s.”

Silently, Ms. May handed Bucky his pass, and Bucky stood up.  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked Steve.  “Do you want me to call my mom?”

What Steve wanted was to sit on the couch with Bucky.  And hug Bucky.  Once he hit the school hallways, he knew he couldn’t do that. 

Or, he could hold hands with Bucky, or put his arm around Bucky’s shoulder, but then everyone would have questions, and he couldn’t deal with that.

***

Despite Bucky’s reservations, Steve did okay in the rest of his classes.  Being in class narrowed down how many people could talk to him.  He joined gym class in progress, which meant Steve and Bucky sat on the sidelines to watch everyone else play indoor soccer, since there were only fifteen minutes left of class.  “I didn’t know you had gym this period,” Steve said to Bucky.  Steve had set his backpack between them on the bench, but the edge of his sneaker was pressed up against the edge of Bucky’s Converse.

“I have a doctor’s note,” Bucky said.  “I usually go to the library and do my homework.”

“But you could play soccer.  You don’t need hands to play soccer.”

“So they keep telling me,” Bucky muttered.  Bucky felt Steve looking at him.  “What?”

“Have you tried?  Like, just gone out there and tried to play?”

Bucky stuck out his jaw.  “What, you think I haven’t?”

“I’m just... Sorry.”  Steve looked down at his hands, and didn’t say anything else.

This whole line of questioning was pissing Bucky off, and he didn’t want to be pissed at Steve.  He wanted to be pissed at Sam Wilson, who hadn’t spoken to Bucky since the Halloween party, and he wanted to be pissed at Bruce Banner, who had been such a huge jerk on the first day Bucky was going to try to participate in gym class since the accident. 

“I’m sorry too,” Bucky muttered.  “I just don’t like jock assholes making fun of my fucking arm stump in the locker room, okay?”  No one had actually made fun of his stump, but he had felt them staring.  And then Bruce had said that thing about his right hand getting tired.  He felt defeated all of a sudden.  “I used to be on the soccer team,” he said.

“Maybe you should get back into it,” Steve said.

“Sam said he was gonna help me, but he never did.”

There was a light touch at his back, and he jumped a little before realizing it was Steve.  Bucky looked at him.  “I could help you, if you want.”

Bucky let himself smile a little.  Steve’s hand, resting on his back just above the waistband of his jeans, warmed him.  “That would be cool.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Ugh, this is gonna suuuuck,” Bucky announced.

He and Steve were in the waiting room.  Bucky’s leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.  Five minutes until his appointment and his mother still wasn’t here. 

Steve didn’t say anything, and Bucky wished he hadn’t complained about his still-alive mother yet again. 

They both heard the women’s voices talking in the hallway at the same time, and they looked up to see Mrs. Barnes walk in with Allison at her side. 

“Hi, boys,” said Mrs. Barnes, cheery as anything.  “How was school?”

“Fine,” Bucky answered sullenly.  Steve just looked at his knees.

Mrs. Barnes gave Allison a tight smile, then sat down at Bucky’s side.  “Don’t worry, hon.  We’re gonna talk this out and everything will be better.”

Bucky wished Steve would look at him, so he could give him the look that said, _Now do you see the controlling?_

Thank whoever was running things up there that Dr. Hill was the first one to come out and call Bucky and his mom in.  Bucky could have jumped over the coffee table covered in pamphlets.

***

Steve watched Bucky’s hurried departure.  He knew Bucky had some things he needed to talk about with his mom, but when Dr. Fury came out to call him in, Steve wasn’t in any rush.  They weren’t going to be talking about his feelings today.  They were going to be talking about his future.

The only good things about Allison being here was knowing that this session would mostly be Allison consulting with Dr. Fury, and Steve wouldn't have to do much more than sit there and nod.  At least, that's what Steve had thought until Allison opened her mouth.

"Mrs. Barnes says you're not eating."

There went that.

"I ate lunch," he said, curling his shoulders in.

"Did you?  What did you eat?"

Steve decided he needed to look at her.  "I don't lie," he said.

Dr. Fury cleared his throat.  "All right," he said.  "Steve, no one is accusing you of lying.  I'm glad to hear that you're eating.  It's perfectly normal to have a diminished appetite while you're grieving."

"It is normal," Allison said, then added, "But I do need to make sure that you are eating.  Mrs. Barnes was worried, that's all."

"You can ask Bucky," Steve muttered.  "I ate lunch."

"Okay.  Allison, you're here to discuss Steve's options and make arrangements for after the funeral on Saturday, yes?"

"Yes," Allison said.  "So, Steve, your mother's church has offered to host a reception after the funeral on Saturday, and then I'll take you back to your house so you can pick up any other items you think you'll need--"

"The funeral's on Saturday?" Steve interrupted.  _Nice of you to let me know_ , he thought darkly, quickly followed by, _I only have one more day_.  One more day of a relatively normal life, living with people who actually cared about him.  One more day before everything about his life changed completely.

"Yes.  At two o'clock."  Allison's voice was softer now.  "The reception will go until about four or five."

"Then I'll go to the group home," he choked out, because suddenly his throat had tightened, and it felt like his tear ducts had swollen up in anticipation of more crying.

"Yes."

Allison detailed everything about his "transition" to the group home: "When you get there, they'll inventory all of your belongings.  The lawyers are still dealing with your mother's will, it looks like she made arrangements to have the house sold and everything put into storage, with all the money being put in a trust for you except the money to be used to pay for the storage unit.  Now, we can deal with all that later on, you can decide if there are items, like furniture, that you'd prefer to sell or get rid of.  She left you the car... I'll be meeting with the group home manager later to see if that's something they can allow...

"You'll still be at the same school, even though the home is over the town line in Greenville.  They feel it's important to maintain that consistency during the transition.  So the staff will be dropping you off for school each morning..."

Allison went on and on and Steve couldn't quite focus on her words.  He didn't want to focus on her words.  He wanted to be someplace else.  Like on Bucky's bed, watching him do homework, as he'd been before it was time to go to therapy.

He wondered if he would ever be able to do that after Saturday.

Would he be able to have friends visit him at this group home?  Would he be able to visit his friends?  He supposed they would frown upon things like parties and drinking.  Would he even be able to stay on the football team?  And what about Bucky? 

"Do you have any questions, Steve?" Dr. Fury's voice broke into his thoughts.

Steve just shook his head.

***

After therapy, Steve clung to Bucky.  Partly because Bucky didn’t want to get in the car with his mother, and so Steve rode on the back of Bucky’s bike again.  Partly, Bucky thought, must have been whatever he and Allison and Dr. Fury had discussed in their session.

Bucky’s session hadn’t gone as badly as he’d feared.  His mother had talked a lot about how she was worried about Bucky’s future.  “He’s going to have a hard enough time finding a job, and a career, being disabled,” she told Dr. Hill.  “If he never learns how to drive, it’s going to be even harder.”

By the end, he (and Dr. Hill) had convinced his mother to back off until he felt like he was ready.  And even though she had asked him if he and Steve wanted a ride home, she didn’t keep trying to pressure him after he used the excuse of having his bike.  It was a weak excuse, and they both knew it, but she didn’t comment on it like she might have before.

At dinner, Steve practically sat in Bucky’s lap, earning his mother’s raised eyebrows.  Up in Bucky’s room after dinner, Steve stopped holding himself back and full-out wrapped Bucky up.  Bucky felt like he was wearing a human body cast.  But he tolerated it, and at least his arm was free.  He ran it through Steve’s short hair, and kissed him around the neck and ear while Steve inhaled Bucky’s sweatshirt.

“Do you smoke pot?” Steve asked suddenly, and Bucky knew what he’d been smelling on the fabric.

“Uh.... is that a deal-breaker or something?”

Steve pulled back to look at him.  Bucky had guessed wrong.  Steve had something else on his mind entirely.

“I mean, yeah, sometimes.  Usually just when I’m with Clint.  He’s a major pothead.”  Bucky sighed.  “Like, he’s always smoking.  So basically every time we hang out either he smokes or we both smoke.  Which is why this sweatshirt smells like smoke. Also I don’t wash it very often.”

Closing his eyes, Steve whispered, “I have to do my laundry before Saturday.”

“Okay,” Bucky said.  “No problem.” 

He resumed stroking Steve’s head, and Steve lowered his face to Bucky’s sweatshirt again.  Steve took a deep breath, then said, “Do you think you could get us some pot right now?”

At first, Bucky didn’t know how to answer that.  He’d never asked Clint to buy pot for him.  He never wanted to know who Clint’s dealer was, because he didn’t want to be a druggie.  Not that he thought of Clint as a druggie.  It just happened.  Bucky had never felt the need to make it happen.  At least, not the need to do more than call Clint up and see if he wanted to hang out.

“Um... How would you feel about hanging out with Clint?” Bucky asked.

The tightening of Steve’s arms gave him an answer.  But even more than the idea of using Clint as a drug dealer, Bucky disliked the idea of doing drugs at his house, while his mother was home.  That would be sure to fuck their tenuous truce into little pieces.

“Clint knows.  About us,” Bucky told him.

For a moment Steve stopped breathing.  Eager to prove that he hadn’t done anything wrong, Bucky started babbling.  “I mean, I told him not to tell anyone.  He’s my best friend.  And he doesn’t really hang out with any of your friends, so I figured it would be okay.  He just thought it was weird, you know, that you were staying at my house, and I mean, I told him before the Halloween party.  He helped me with my costume.”  Bucky flushed then, a surge of heat as he remembered his costume and Steve’s reaction to it and how Steve had undone the collar and kissed his neck.

It seemed Steve was remembering the same things, because he pulled his face out of Bucky’s shirt and spent a long second staring at Bucky’s neck before he lifted his gaze to meet Bucky’s.

Bucky hadn’t even noticed that their faces had drifted close enough together to kiss until his lips met Steve’s.  Then his eyes closed and he was back in that night, that good time before everything went to hell.  Steve moved his hand up so that his thumb rested on that same spot on Bucky’s neck, and instead of a pulse it was more like a memory nerve that throbbed a beat against Steve’s fingertip. 

The kissing opened up a black hole, and twenty minutes disappeared before they came up for air, panting and eyes dark and everything feeling too tight.  The moment they lay there, looking at each other, lasted long enough for Bucky to begin to wonder if he might be falling in love, and then Steve asked, “So, do you think you can get some pot?”

***

They walked over to Clint’s.  Bucky had been as vague as he could be, first texting Clint about his afternoon with Natasha and Kate, an exercise in feigned interest that felt more like torture.  He did care about Clint and his dilemma, but at the moment all he wanted was for Steve to kiss him again.  Only Steve didn’t want to kiss him.  Steve wanted drugs.

And Bucky didn’t like using his best friend that way.

So he joked along about how Kate could be the provider in the relationship by shooting squirrels, and then he found that he couldn’t just come out and say, “Hey, can you get me some pot?  Tonight?”

Instead he texted, _Hey, you wanna hang out tonight?_

 _on a school nite????_ Clint texted back, including an emoji of a shocked face.

_i told you i had therapy with my mom after school... i could use something to take the edge off_

_ya man sure.  just go straight out to the trailer, stepdad’s in a mood_

Clint added, _you left ur xbox controller here last time_

_ok thanks man_

Bucky didn’t mention that Steve would be coming along.  He knew he should, but he figured he could play it off.  “Of course Steve’s gonna hang out with us, he’s basically my boyfriend and he’s living at my house.  You knew he was staying at my house.”

He still felt pretty shitty about it.

“Okay, let’s go,” he told Steve, tucking his phone in his back pocket and grabbing his puffy jacket.

“Where?” Steve asked.

“To Clint’s house?”

Steve looked down at his knees.  “Can’t you just get it and bring it back here?”

“So my mom can catch us smoking and never let you come over ever again?  No.  Come on, Clint’s cool.  We’re just gonna play some video games and smoke and then we’ll come back here.  Okay?”

Nothing about Steve’s body language said that he wanted to move off of Bucky’s bed.

Bucky felt his frustration level rise a little.  He reached out and tugged at Steve’s arm.  “Okay?”

“I just want to not feel anything for a while,” Steve said, just before he started to cry again.

***

Of course Mrs. Barnes wasn’t keen on them going out on a school night.  “Come on, Mom.  It’s just Clint’s house.  It’s like two streets over.  And it’s only six-thirty.  I’ll be back by nine-thirty.  I swear.”

“Honey,” Mrs. Barnes beckoned for him to come over to where she was sitting on the couch, then she whispered, “Does Steve really want to be going out and hanging out with your friends?”

“He said he was fine with it,” Bucky said.  He didn’t tell his mom that Steve was the one who asked, for obvious reasons.  “If he looks tired or he seems upset, we’ll come back.  No problem.”  More loudly, he said, “We’re just gonna play some mindless video games.  Do something normal.”

“Well, alright.  Do you have your cell phone?  Does Steve has his phone?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Okay.  Nine-thirty.”

Finally they got out of there, and headed over to Clint’s.  The five minute walk had them both shivering and noses running.  “We hang out in the camper in the backyard.  Clint told us to meet him out there.”

Light from the camper’s windows cast little spots on the lawn.  Bucky rapped his knuckles – shave and a haircut, two bits – and after a second he heard Clint unlatching the door and opening it.  “Hey, dude.”  Then, upon seeing Steve behind Bucky, Clint paused, and added another, “Hey.”

The inside of the camper was steeped in the smell of marijuana.  Steve coughed once as he closed the door behind him.  Bucky wished Steve would talk or something, at least say hi.  “What’s up your stepdad’s butt today?”

Clint shrugged.  “Dunno.  I think his car got a flat tire or something.”

They settled down on the narrow couch that lined one wall and faced the TV.  Bucky had to pat the cushion beside him before Steve would sit.  So he turned to Clint and said, “Steve had a pretty rough therapy session too.”

“I bet,” Clint said, taking this as a signal that Steve was cool about drugs and pulling out some rolled joints in a bag.  He extracted one, stuck it in his mouth, and flicked a lighter to the tip.  Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he said, “Your mom just died, right?”

Steve nodded. 

When Clint held the joint out to him, Bucky passed it right along to Steve, who looked at it like he didn’t know what to do with it.  “Good thing you have my controller,” Bucky said.  He punched the console on and picked it up.  The controller was designed for one-handed use, and Bucky had gotten it for his first birthday after the accident.  He still wasn’t quite as good as he used to be, but at least now he didn’t feel like Clint was going easy on him.  “I should probably get another one to keep here.”

Another peek back over at Steve. 

Clint spoke up.  “You inhale, and hold it in.  It’s not rocket science.”  The look he gave Bucky said he didn’t appreciate Bucky bringing some noob in to waste his stash.

Bucky returned with a look that said, His mother just _died_.

Clint’s bluntness helped, and finally Steve put the joint to his lips and sucked in a lungful of smoke.  Immediately he coughed.

“That’s the stuff, man,” Clint laughed, and then the game came on and he tossed an extra controller to Steve, who passed the joint back to Bucky.

Bucky just passed it over to Clint.  He wasn’t really feeling it tonight.  Besides, he needed his one hand to play.

"That's pretty cool," Steve said, nodding at Bucky's controller.

Bucky shrugged.  "Yeah." 

"I never knew there was stuff like that.  Like, I never thought about it."  Steve's voice was low and slow.

Clint nudged Bucky's foot and gave him a look.  Bucky wasn't sure if the look was about the people Clint referred to as "norms" or if it was specifically about Steve and how he seemed to be a little high already.

Luckily, the game sucked them all in.  Clint and Steve passed the joint back and forth until it was little more than an ember.  Bucky thought playing video games was much better for forgetting about your problems than pot, until he noticed that Steve wasn’t really playing.  He was staring into space.  “You okay?” he asked.

“I thought it would be more like getting drunk,” Steve said slowly.  “But more mellow.  You know how drinking makes you feel kinda numb?”

“What, you got the munchies?” Clint asked.  He hit pause and stood to reach into the cabinets up above the TV.  “I got Cheetos, Doritos, Fritos... ha ha, I don’t actually have Fritos.  Because they’re gross.  Uh, chips – regular, barbeque, salt and vinegar, sour cream and onion—”

Bucky heard this list and stood to peek into the cabinet.  “Did you steal those from Subway or something?”

“Maybe...” said Clint, grinning.

“I want Doritos,” Bucky told him, and Clint tossed him three little red bags.  He tore one open and was about to empty it into his mouth until he remembered Clint at lunch.  Then he glanced at Steve, feeling embarrassed.

“Steve-O, whatcha want?”  Clint looked at Steve expectantly.

“Um...”  Steve propped up his head with a fist under his chin.  “I don’t care.  Surprise me.”

Clint gave Bucky another look, _Really?_  Bucky shrugged.  “Well, in the interest of what you two might be doing later,” Clint said, and tossed a few more bags of Doritos over to Steve.  These ones had blue bags.  Cool Ranch.

Bucky kicked Clint.  Clint pushed at Bucky.  They fell back on the sofa and slapped at each other, before Bucky once again remembered that Steve was there.  _Must be the pot, I’m being so dumb right now_.  He tried to sit normal but Clint didn’t get it.  “No fair!” Bucky said when Clint got him in a headlock.  “I only have one arm!”

“You want me to take my hearing aids out so we can have a fair fight?”

When they had finally settled down, Bucky caught Steve staring into the Doritos bag.  “Uh, earth to Steve,” Bucky said.

“It’s shiny in there.”  Steve looked up with bloodshot eyes.

“Well, I think maybe we should head home,” Bucky said to Clint, who just laughed. 

“You’re just worried that I’ll beat you up.”

Once they left the dim lighting and noise of the camper and entered the dark silence of the evening, Bucky felt his good mood drift off.  He shouldn’t have enjoyed himself so much, not while Steve was still grieving. 

Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand, mostly to keep Steve from veering into the bushes while he stared up at the clear night sky.  “There are so many stars,” Steve said.

“Yeah.”  Bucky tugged him back to the center of the sidewalk.

“It takes thousands of years for starlight to reach Earth,” Steve continued.  “By the time we see it, the star might already be dead.”

Now Bucky really regretted bringing Steve to Clint’s.  “Steve,” he started, “I don’t know if you want me to tell you some shit about how your mother’s light will shine on long after she’s dead or whatever, or if you’re just high, but I _wish_ I could tell you everything was going to be okay.  I want everything to be okay for you.  But I guess... I guess if things are ever going to be okay, you need to want it, too.”

Steve tilted his head away from the stars, blinking slowly.  “When did you realize you wanted everything to be okay?”

It became hard to answer, suddenly.  Their footsteps crunched over the pavement.  The front porch lights cast a friendly glow over Bucky’s house, welcoming them home.  Through the curtains covering the picture window, Bucky could see the flickering light of the television, and knew his mom was watching CSI, by herself.  He thought about everything he’d said to her in therapy, and everything she had said to him.

“When I realized you were just like me,” he said.


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky lurched awake in the dark.  His bed smelled funny.  Like pot, and Doritos.

He sat up, and then he heard it: a noise, down in the kitchen.

An intruder?  Bucky debated whether to take his phone, charging on the nightstand, to call 911, or to grab his prosthetic arm so he could beat the intruder with it.  He took the phone and stepped into the hallway.  Almost immediately, relief flooded him.  The guest room door was ajar.

“Steve?” Bucky called out softly when he’d reached one of the bottom stairs.

Steve was sitting by himself at the kitchen table, with only the little light over the sink turned on.  He was eating something out of a Tupperware container.

“Hi,” Steve said through a full mouth.

“What are you eating?” Bucky asked.  “It looks disgusting.”

“I think it’s chicken pot pie?”

“Oh.  Yeah, I think we had that for dinner on Tuesday.”

“’s good.”

“Yeah.  Organic vegetables and free-range chicken.”  Bucky sat down at the table.  “Couldn’t sleep?”

Steve shrugged.  “And I was hungry.”  He scooped up a forkful of pot pie, then paused.  “My mom’s funeral is on Saturday.”

He sounded tired, worn out, like he was never going to care about anything ever again.  Bucky remembered feeling that way, too.  There had been days when he had just laid in bed without the energy to do anything.  No point, he had figured then. 

“And then...” Steve started, swallowing, “And then I have to go live somewhere else.”

“I could ask my mom—”

“It’s okay, Bucky.  I can’t ask your mom to do that.”  Steve set the fork back in the Tupperware.  “I guess it’s better for me to just get on with my life.”

“But you can still come visit, right?  Like, we can still hang out.  They can’t tell you not to see your friends.”  Bucky gave a little smile.  “Sharon won’t let them.”

Steve’s mouth quirked up, a tiny little bit, and then it was gone.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know anything.”  He sighed.  “I know I’ll still be at school here.”

“So we can still see each other,” Bucky said.  “And I’m sure you’ll be able to call.  Maybe it’ll be like... like college, or something.  Like a dorm.”

“Maybe.”

Silence filled the kitchen, leaving that word to hang there.  So many maybes.  Everything so uncertain.

“If it’s bad,” Bucky whispered, “Like, really bad, you have to call me.  I’ll come and get you.  Or you run away and come here.  I’ll hide you in my room until we graduate.”

Steve didn’t even smile at that.  He looked at Bucky, and suddenly Bucky knew that Steve was afraid it _would_ be that bad. 

“And, if they don’t let you visit your friends, I’ll go there.  I’ll stand outside and bang on the door until they let me in."

Setting down his fork, Steve said, "I'm not hungry anymore.  But I’m not tired, either."

"Well, there is something we could do."  Bucky laughed.  "It's not as exciting as making out.  Uh, you remember our English project?  That's kind of due on Monday."

They went up to Steve's room.  He'd brought the unfinished pages in his bag, and they took them into Bucky's room.  Steve sat down at Bucky's desk to do the inking, and Bucky used his big history textbook as a desk to color.  There was something about the dim lighting and the quiet activity, one that was rather mindless, because all the drawing had already been finished, that made for a comfortable silence.  Then, when they had finally finished, and looked at each other with grainy eyes and tired smiles, Steve crawled into bed with Bucky, and they fell asleep wrapped up in each other, Bucky curled against the wide plane of Steve's chest, their breath warming the air between them.

And that was how Bucky's mother found them the following morning.

***

"I can't believe your mother was cool about that," Steve said as they walked to school.

"Probably she would have reacted differently if we'd been naked or something," Bucky sighed.  "Then again, I think she has a soft spot for you."

"Um, can I ask you a favor?"

Bucky looked at Steve, trying to judge what this favor might involve.  "Sure," he said.

"I, um, I..." Steve's voice cracked, and he looked off toward the football field, away from Bucky.  "Can you tell my friends? About..."  Steve swallowed thickly several times. Finally the words came.  "About the funeral."

"Yeah.  Definitely," Bucky said right away, only a few steps later understanding what that might entail. Actually walking up to Bruce Banner and talking to him. Talking to any of them.  Ugh.

It wasn't until they hit the school hallways that Bucky happened upon the perfect solution: Sharon.

But then Bucky didn’t see Sharon right away.  Where was she?  Why wasn’t she up Steve’s ass already?  Thor was there, giving Steve a manly hug (only the upper part of the chest touching, one thump on the back), and before Bucky could slide away, Steve was giving Bucky a helpless look.

“My parents want to come to the funeral,” Thor said.  “Is that okay?  When is the funeral, do you know yet?”

Bucky resisted the urge to freeze when Thor looked at him like he was something small and squishable.  “It’s tomorrow,” he said.  “At two o’clock.”

Thor nodded.  “Okay.  Okay?  I’ll be there, man.  Do you want me to tell the rest of the team?”

Bucky nodded, even though he knew Thor was talking to Steve and had already forgotten he existed.  Steve also nodded.  Good.  That took care of Bruce and all those guys.  But Sharon...  Bucky scanned the halls.  No sign of her, even though he saw a clot of the other cheerleaders milling around the lockers by the girls’ bathroom.

Whatever, who cared about Sharon.  Where was Clint? 

Funny how over the course of a week Bucky had grown used to seeing Clint in school every day.  Of course Clint wasn’t here.  He’d gotten super high last night, he was probably still sleeping it off.  If he was lucky, Clint would show up in time for lunch. 

Bucky edged toward his locker, feeling oddly torn about leaving Steve alone.  Steve kept making sad eyes at him, but Bucky wasn’t friends with any of the people who came up to talk to him and Thor, and the group had migrated to Steve’s locker, and Bucky really did have to get to his own locker and throw some of his books in there or he was going to be hauling around six textbooks all day. 

He’d just dialed his combination and popped the metal door open when he felt a tug at the strap of his messenger bag.  He sighed, expecting it to be Kate Bishop bugging him about where Clint was, and turned to see that it was Steve.

“You left me,” Steve whispered.

“Oh.  I thought you were okay.  You were with your friends?”  Bucky felt like an asshole.  “I’m sorry.”

“We have English first period.”

“Yup.”  Bucky started to pull his thick history book out of his bag.  Steve grabbed it and put it on the top shelf of Bucky’s locker for him.  He tried not to let that bother him, but when he pulled out his chemistry notebook, Steve took that too.  “I can do it myself,” Bucky said.

Steve withdrew his hand and curled in on himself.  He didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered.  He yanked out his chemistry textbook and stuck it in the top, then dropped his bag and took off his coat.  The zipper stuck, a critical situation with one hand.  Bucky ground his teeth together, feeling Steve watching him.  Finally he wrestled the thing off and chucked it into his locker and slammed the door shut.  “Let’s get to English,” he said.

No Sharon when they entered the classroom.  As Bucky went to his regular seat in the back, he saw Steve looking at him.  And after Sharon didn't show even after the bell rang, Bucky felt bad.  He could have sat in her seat next to Steve.  Bucky didn't know why he was so worried about her.  She was allowed to get sick, or have a dentist appointment or whatever.  And what if she was just running late, and showed up halfway through class only to find Bucky sitting there at her desk? 

He wished Steve would stop looking at him like that.  It wasn't like Steve was going to hold his hand in public.  Like they could even do that stuff in the middle of class. 

Bucky sighed.  He already wanted this day to be over.  He wanted it to be tonight, Friday night, when he didn't have to think about homework or going to therapy.  It was Steve's last night at his house.  He wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. 

***

It felt like the school day would never end.  Steve tried to focus, but he kept thinking about tomorrow.  He had to do his laundry tonight.  He would need to go back to his house either tonight or tomorrow to get his suit.  He didn't want to go back to his house. 

His classes were worse when Bucky wasn't in them.  When Bucky was there he could latch on to that presence with his mind.  Without him, and without Sharon, all of Steve's worries spun out before him uncontrolled.  Lunch was a life raft he clung to, and once it arrived, he suddenly realized that he couldn't just go over and sit with Bucky, not when Thor had found him.  He made sure to sit so he could see Bucky over there, all by himself, at least until Natasha and Kate and Clint showed up.  Even then, Steve could tell that Bucky was feeling lonely.

He wished he could sit with Bucky, alone at a table, and they could talk like they did last night.  But then Steve's friends wouldn't understand why Steve left them.  "Are you gay or something?" Bruce might ask, and then how could Steve answer?  He didn't want to tell them.  _Oh, your mom had terminal cancer and died, and now you're gay, too?  What else aren't you telling us?  I feel like I don't know you at all, Steve_.

And then he would lose all those friends, and all he'd have left was Bucky, and what if Bucky decided Steve was too sad all the time?  Then Steve would really be all alone. 

"Is Sharon out sick?" he asked the people around him. 

"I haven't heard from her."  Pepper was the only one who answered with more than a shrug.  She pulled out her phone.  "Here, let me text her and see."

No word from Sharon by the end of lunch.  Steve hoped she wasn't sick.  She had seemed fine yesterday.

By the time last period rolled around, Steve asked his teacher for a pass to go down to guidance.  He couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t sit through another class trying to keep up this front. 

“You seem like you’re doing a little better today, Steve,” said Ms. May when he entered her office. 

“I guess,” Steve told her.  He sat down and pulled a pillow onto his lap. 

“Is there anything in particular on your mind you want to talk about?”

He picked at a thread on the pillow.  He’d noticed it yesterday, when he’d had his face inches away from it for several hours.

“Not really,” Steve said.

***

Bucky looked for Steve after his last class.  He’d already gone to his locker and gotten his books, a tiny bit thankful that Steve hadn’t been around to “help,” then became worried when the halls began to clear out and still no Steve. 

He was just about to text him when he caught sight of that blond head.

Instead of coming from the math wing, where Bucky knew Steve had Trigonometry, Steve was coming from the direction of the band room and the auditorium and the front of the building.  That downturned head, the slow shuffle, and Bucky knew Steve had gone down to guidance.  When, though?  Bucky had seen him at lunch, so it was after that, at least.

“Hey,” Bucky said. 

“Hey,” said Steve.

Bucky struggled with the instinct to put his arm around Steve.  There were still a few students in the hallways, and while none of them were Steve’s friends, everyone knew who Steve was, and word would get around.  Bucky still didn’t know where Steve stood with that.  Plus, Steve had his hands shoved in the pockets of his letter jacket.

So Bucky resigned himself to waiting until they were on the sidewalks beyond the school, and casually tried to slip his fingers into the crook of Steve’s elbow. 

Steve shrugged him off and stepped away.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”  Steve’s flat tone said something very different.

Bucky glanced around; there were cars coming, so maybe Steve just didn’t want to be seen.  “Okay,” he said. 

After a few minutes of walking silently side by side, Bucky said, “I texted Sharon about the funeral but she never texted me back.  Do you know if she’s home sick or what?”

Steve shook his head.

Bucky gave up trying to talk to Steve after that.  He was eager to get home so he and Steve could curl up on the couch or something.  The knowledge of it being Steve’s last night at Bucky’s house sat heavy in his stomach.  He didn’t want Steve to go, and he was sure it was Steve’s anxiety about going to the group home that was making him so quiet and moody.

At home, however, an unfamiliar car sat in the driveway – a silver Volkswagen Jetta.  When they got closer, the driver’s side door opened and Sharon got out.  “Hi,” she called.

She wasn’t the worst person who could have shown up uninvited, Bucky knew.  Then a woman who could only be Sharon’s mother got out of the passenger side.

“Hi,” Bucky said uncertainly when Steve gave no reaction.

Mrs. Carter greeted Steve and hugged him.  “Oh, honey, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Steve said woodenly from behind her head of poofy blonde hair.

“You weren’t in school,” Bucky said to Sharon.  It wasn’t exactly an accusation.

“Yeah...”  They all headed inside.  Bucky had to take a few long steps ahead of everyone else to pull out his keys and unlock the door.  He dropped them and tried not to feel everyone pitying him as he reached down to pick them up.  “Last night I just sort of started crying about everything and Mom said I could take the day off from school.”

“Let’s sit down in the living room,” said Mrs. Carter, pulling Steve along with her.

Bucky sat in one of the armchairs while Sharon and Mrs. Carter flanked Steve on the couch.  Steve looked intensely like he didn’t want to be there.

“Sharon’s been so upset about this, especially after she heard you’re going to go live at some group home.  With strangers.”  Mrs. Carter ran her fingers over Steve’s hair.  “Honey, I wish you had told us about your situation.  We’d love if you came to stay with us.  It would be no problem at all.  Harrison has an office he never uses, we could convert it into a bedroom for you.  What do you think?”

Steve didn’t answer.

Suddenly, Bucky felt like he shouldn’t be there.  He felt like Steve shouldn’t be having to make decisions like this, not right now.

“Honey, I know you don’t want to impose on us, but it isn’t a problem, I swear.  Do you want me to call your social worker and talk to her?”

Finally Steve cleared his throat and spoke.  “No, that’s okay.”

“Okay, so you’ll call and tell her?  That’s good.  Now, I’m sure... uh, what was your name again?” Mrs. Carter now addressed Bucky.

“Bucky,” he said.

“I’m sure Bucky’s mom wouldn’t mind if you stayed here while we get the room ready for you.  We can move all your things from your bedroom.  We can even paint the walls whatever color you want.  How does that sound?”

Steve shook his head.  From the ducking of his head, to the way Steve tensed his jaw and started blinking, Bucky knew Steve needed this lady to get her claws off him. 

“I think Steve’s already made his decision about where he’s staying,” Bucky said. 

Mrs. Carter raised her eyebrows at him.  “If I had known about the situation, I would have been able to offer to take him in back when he was making these decisions.  I’m sure if staying with us had been an option, Steve would have chosen to take it.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Sharon said, “to go live with a foster family when we already know him.”  She put a hand on Steve’s arm.  “We’ve been talking about it ever since we found out,” she told him.  “The idea of it.  It wouldn’t be a big deal.  Dad said if you become an emancipated minor, you can live wherever you want.  You don’t have to do whatever the state tells you to do.”

“Why don’t we call your social worker right now.”  Mrs. Carter pulled out her phone.  “What’s her number?”

“No,” said Bucky, standing up. 

“This isn’t your decision, Bucky,” said Sharon.  “It’s Steve.”

“Can’t you see he can’t make a decision about anything right now?” Bucky felt his voice rising, both in pitch and volume.  “Can’t you just leave him alone to think about it?  Just for a little while?”

Mrs. Carter shook her head.  “But it makes _sense_ for Steve to come live with us.  Steve, honey, what’s your social worker’s number?”

“No!”  Bucky took a step forward and slapped the iPhone out of Mrs. Carter’s hand.  Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him, horrified, while Sharon scrambled to pick the phone up off the floor.  “You need to leave.  Now.”

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Carter said, standing up.  She wasn’t as tall as Bucky, but for some reason her being an adult, or maybe being a woman, intimidated him.  He stepped back.  She looked around like she was just seeing the house for the first time, then she demanded, “Are your parents home?”

“Mom,” Sharon whispered.  She stood up too, clutching the cell phone to her chest.  Her eyes seemed to be apologizing, but Bucky didn’t care.  He wanted her gone too.  He needed to help Steve, who was curled up and silent and didn’t seem to be breathing.

“My mom’s still at work,” Bucky said.  “She gets home at three—”

“What about your father?” Bucky sucked in a breath at the word.  “I’m sure he would love to know that his son is so casual about assaulting a woman.”

“Assault?” Bucky stuttered.  “I didn’t—”

“Bucky’s father is dead.”  Steve’s words stopped the room.  Everyone turned to look at him as he unfolded himself and stood up.  He didn’t look at anyone, just glared at the floor.  “And Bucky’s right.  You need to leave.”

Sharon’s face turned red.  She backed away, and then returned to tug at her mother, who was looking between Steve and Bucky with a furrow in her brow.  “Come on, Mom.  Let’s just let him think about it, okay?”

As they passed near him, Bucky backed up, too.  He didn’t want any more accusations of assault.

The door closing left the two boys in silence.

Bucky couldn’t read Steve’s expression.  His clenched fists and tight jaw looked angry.  But was Steve angry at Bucky, too?  All Bucky needed was for Steve to look at him.  If he could see Steve’s eyes, he would know.

Steve didn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry.”  Bucky’s voice came out choked and it was only then that Bucky knew he was going to cry.  “I didn’t mean to do that.  To... to hit her, I guess I hit her, and I didn’t mean to...”

Now Steve looked at him.  Only he was blurry, and when Bucky blinked and felt the hot tears roll down his face, Steve was suddenly in front of him, wiping them away.  “Don’t cry,” Steve said, his voice husky.

Somehow that only made Bucky cry more.  And now Steve was crying, too, but at least now Bucky could press himself into Steve’s chest and grip the back of his jacket and Steve could crush his arms around Bucky and they didn’t have to think about anyone else or going anywhere or making any decisions.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So probably the first section in this chapter should have been at the end of the last chapter...

“Would you rather go live with Sharon and her parents?” Bucky asked later that night.

They’d both been drained after dealing with Mrs. Carter, and by the time Mrs. Barnes arrived home, Steve and Bucky had taken a nap together and woken up a little more refreshed.  Bucky figured it was probably lack of sleep that had led him to the incident earlier.  (“Do you really think I assaulted her?  Do you think she’ll get a lawyer?” Bucky had worried.  Steve’s response: “You didn’t hurt her.  And she kind of deserved it.”) 

Mrs. Barnes had rented a movie from Red Box, some new romantic comedy she didn’t think the boys would be interested in watching.  Yet both of them sat on the couch under an afghan while Mrs. Barnes drank her wine and smiled at them when she didn’t think they were looking.

Now they were both in Bucky’s bed, sharing again, and Bucky found that he couldn’t sleep.

“I don’t know,” Steve whispered.  His breath tickled on the back of Bucky’s neck.

“How come you decided to go to a group home instead of what Mrs. Carter said?  Getting emancipated?”

Steve sighed, and Bucky felt his forehead lean into the back of his neck.  His voice, when he spoke, was muffled.  “I thought about it.  There’s no job I could get, as a high school student, that would be enough hours or enough money to pay for an apartment and all the bills and everything that goes along with that.  Not if I still wanted to graduate with a decent GPA.”  Steve sighed again.  “Allison and I went over all that.  All the details of what it would take.  And I didn’t know which of my friends would actually want me living there.  I knew the Carters would, but then... would they be like Sharon used to be, trying to force us back into a relationship?  I didn’t want it to be like that.  I didn’t want to do that to her.  And... no matter what people say, I don’t want to burden anybody.  Me living somewhere, their parents would have to buy extra groceries, and maybe they’d have to give me money for clothes or to go out or whatever.  Unless I got a job.  I was just...”  Steve’s chest hitched against Bucky’s back.  “I was hoping she could hang on until I wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

Bucky ran his hand along the soft hair on Steve’s forearms.  “I wish things could have been different, too.”

***

Then suddenly it was four o’clock on Saturday afternoon and Steve had no idea how it had happened.

The morning had been a blur.  Laundry.  A trip back to his house to get his suit, which hadn’t been as emotional as he had expected.  Later, collapsing in the shower, with the running water washing away his tears, and emerging with all evidence of that erased. 

The ride to the church had seemed like he was shuttling through space.  The blur of passing trees and buildings was only interrupted by the feel of Bucky’s clammy hand gripped tight around his.  Then he was there, at his mother’s funeral, and he blanked out.  Just as well.  The wooden box at the front of the church didn’t look like anything, most certainly not something his mother would be lying inside.  It was just a box.  The blown-up photograph on top of the coffin was just a photograph, one he’d seen a thousand times.  It had been taken at his eighth grade graduation.  Steve had been cropped out.

He knew he was expected to sit in the front pew.  His hands were empty; Bucky had let go as they got out of the car.  Now Thor was there at his side.  Steve hadn’t realized what a good friend Thor was.  Steve also hadn’t realized that without Thor on his one side, and Bucky on his other, that he would have been alone in that front pew.  No relatives, and though his mother had many friends and coworkers, none knew Steve well enough to assume that they should be one to stand up there.  Sharon and her parents sat in the other front pew, on the other side of the aisle.  Steve didn’t look at her.  Alison sat near the back of the church.  Steve didn’t look at her either.

He felt like a husk of himself, sitting there, the words of the pastor blowing past his ears without meaning, and afterwards, everyone shaking his hand or hugging him and saying they were so sorry, so sorry for his loss, and he nodded and thanked and hugged and the reception was more of the same, and now it was four o’clock and Alison was there and she was asking him if he was ready.

No, he was not.

***

“Is Steve mad at me?” Sharon asked, at what was possibly the most crucial moment of the day.

Alison was over there, talking to Steve, probably getting ready to take him away, and Bucky was stuck talking to Sharon.

Bucky had watched Sharon out of the corner of his eye through most of the funeral.  He had no doubt her grief was real; she’d been Steve’s “girlfriend” for years, so she definitely knew his mother.  She blew her nose into tissue after wadded up tissue (at one point, Mrs. Carter gave her a look and Sharon scrambled to shove all her tissue balls into her purse, and Bucky wished he’d slapped that phone out of her hand a little harder).  It made Bucky wonder if maybe Sharon should have been at Steve’s side instead of him.  He’d only met Mrs. Rogers once. 

And the one time he had reached for Steve’s hand, Steve had jerked away.  After that, Bucky had left a good amount of distance between them.

After last night, Steve’s distance hurt.  Bucky thought it had been good, Steve talking about his feelings like that.  But maybe it had just been the magic of nighttime, how the dark made it easy to confess things, throwing words out into a void like they were mere thoughts.  All morning Steve had been quiet and as emotional as a wooden block. 

The one time Bucky had touched him had been in the car, and for the most part it had felt like Steve wasn’t even aware that Bucky had his hand in a death grip while he had a minor panic attack.  When they’d arrived at the church, Bucky’s mom had pulled out some tissues and hugged him and mopped the sweat from his face while Steve drifted toward the church.  He had pushed her away with an, “I’m fine, Mom,” but then when he saw Steve walking away like he hadn’t even noticed what Bucky was going through, Bucky turned back to his mom and hugged her and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then there was the moment in the church.  Bucky knew he shouldn’t have even tried.  Steve had made that very clear yesterday, but Bucky had thought Steve was doing that thing where he bottled everything up and if he just had someone to cling to, he would open up and actually grieve for his mother.  But no.  And Thor had given him a look that said he didn’t think Bucky should have been standing where he was, either.  Bucky hadn’t been Steve’s friend for years and years.

“I don’t know,” Bucky told Sharon finally.  “He’s been kind of... not in a good place, all day.  I don’t think he’s mad at you, though, if my opinion matters at all.”

Sharon was wringing her hands and watching Steve talk to Allison.  “Okay.  I just—I thought he’d be happy about it, you know?  Having a place to live.  I don’t know.  I feel terrible about this whole thing.”  Sharon devolved into sobs again.  “I feel like, if I hadn’t been trying so hard to get him to _want_ me, maybe he would have told me about his mom, and then he’d be coming to live at my house and he wouldn’t be going off to some... some... _place_.” 

“I’m sure it’s not a _bad_ place,” Bucky offered.  It was looking like the only way to fix this particular situation was going to be hugging Sharon.  “I mean, we’ll still see him at school.  He’s not going to disappear.”

“But he could have lived with meeee...” Sharon wailed. 

So Bucky hugged her.

This at least gave him something to do that didn’t earn weird looks from Steve’s friends.  It also gave him a chance to really see who was here.  Of course the football team, which meant Teddy Altman (not Billy, though, thank god) and Bruce Banner.  Bucky wasn’t sure why he thought Clint should have been there, since he hadn’t mentioned the funeral to him, but then saw a familiar redhead.  Of course, because the cheerleaders were all here too. 

Why hadn’t Natasha come over and talked to him after the funeral? Bucky wondered, watching her fill a Styrofoam cup with coffee.  Then he had his answer.  She headed straight for Bruce. 

Of course.  It had been less than a week since Natasha and Bruce had broken up.  It was not out of the realm of possibility that Natasha had needed a break to think about her feelings for Bruce and now decided it would be a good time to get back together with him.  Fuck.  Clint was going to kill him.

And now Allison had her arm around Steve and was guiding him over to Bucky’s mother, and then Bucky’s mom was looking for him and making eye contact that said, _Steve is leaving, he’s getting his stuff out of the car, come say good-bye_.

“I, uh, I have to go to the bathroom,” Bucky said. 

“O-oh, okay, uh, sorry,” Sharon blubbered.  She wandered off into the receptive arms of Pepper Potts.

He made it outside as his mother was popping the trunk.  “Are you leaving now?” Bucky asked.  His voiced sounded whiny and plaintive and he hated it, especially when Steve gave no hint of feeling one way or another about leaving.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

Bucky shifted from foot to foot as Steve slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed his bookbag and another bag.  “Can you call me tonight?  Or text me?”  When Steve didn’t answer, he redirected the question to Allison.  “Can he?”

Allison’s answer was noncommittal.  “We’ll see.  It might be late by the time he’s all checked in.”

“I’ll still be awake.  I’ll wake up.”  He reached out and grabbed Steve’s arm when Steve started to walk past him.

Steve shook him off, and extended his hand.  A handshake?  Bucky stared at it, his face heating up, until the moment went on a little too long and he grabbed that hand and shook it. 

Then Steve was gone, going away, and Bucky couldn’t do anything but watch him go.  “Bye,” he managed to say. 

Steve gave no indication that he had heard.

***

Then Steve was in an office where two staff members were going through his stuff.  “An inventory,” they had called it. 

“It’s basically just so we know what you’re coming in with, because sometimes things get lost or stolen, and it helps to have a list,” said the twenty-something man with a goatee and a t-shirt for a band called Arctic Monkeys.  Steve didn’t remember his name.

“And to check for contraband,” added the also twenty-something woman with most of her blonde hair buzzed except for a shock of pink that hung in her eyes.  Steve didn’t remember her name, either.

“Sharps, drugs, things like that,” the man agreed.

Steve nodded and otherwise stared at various spots around the office.  His eyes might land on a patched-over spot of wall that hadn’t been painted yet, or the scuffed tabletop, or the list on the whiteboard titled “Restricted.”  He wasn’t worried about them finding anything. 

“Razor,” said the man, and the woman recorded it on her list, then put it on the desk. 

“We’ll have to keep this in the office,” the woman told him.  “We’ll keep your shaving cream too.  Anytime you need to shave you just have to ask.  It’s just precautionary.”

Steve nodded.

“Blue polo shirt, striped,” the man said.  “White polo shirt.  White t-shirt, plain.  Gray t-shirt, plain.”

All of his possessions, recorded on sheets of paper.  He barely owned anything. 

In the other room, a television blared.  From the kitchen came the smells of food cooking.  Two boys had been in the beginning stages of making dinner when Steve had first arrived.  One was a Hispanic boy wearing low-slung jeans and a tight black t-shirt.  The other was a white boy so skinny his clothes drowned him.  His hair hung from his scalp in greasy clumps. 

“Ohhh-kay, what’s this,” said the man.

The rattle of pills in bottles woke Steve up a little. 

“Steve?  Can I ask why you have two bottles of your mother’s prescription narcotics in your bag?” the man asked.

His mouth had gone dry.  He just stared at the two bottles he’d almost completely forgotten about. 

“Leigh, maybe you should grab his social worker.”

Steve watched the pink-haired woman named Leigh get up and lean out into the living room, where Allison had gone to sit and talk with another one of her clients.

“Steve, this is very serious.  Do you have an explanation for this?” the man asked again.

“It was...” Steve’s voice cracked.  He swallowed.  “It was just in case.”

***

Steve didn’t call Saturday night.

Steve didn’t call on Sunday.  And when Bucky tried to call him, sometime around eight, it went straight to voice mail.

By Monday morning, Bucky would have been more worried, but he figured Steve would be at school.  He headed out a little earlier than usual, hoping he’d have a chance to talk to Steve before class.  As he rode headfirst into a biting November wind, Bucky talked himself down.  Steve was in a new place, with new people.  Maybe there had been a lot going on at the group home, or some group activity, that meant Steve didn’t have the time to call him back.  Or maybe Steve wasn’t allowed to have his cell phone there?  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.  Steve’s phone was probably on the same plan as his mother’s, and maybe he’d had to switch it into his own name or something.

Bucky hung out by his locker as long as possible without feeling awkward.  Sharon saw him and waved a little, but she didn’t come by to talk to him.  Clint wasn’t around – two Mondays in a row would have been a miracle.  Eventually he couldn’t shuffle his books around anymore, and he headed to his first class of the day, which unfortunately was not one he shared with Steve, so he didn’t know until third period that Steve wasn’t in school. 

He stared at the empty seat until Sharon walked in, and she saw him and saw the empty seat and mouthed, “Where’s Steve?” to him.  He shrugged and mouthed, “I don’t know,” but Sharon had gotten there just ahead of the bell, so they didn’t have time to talk before Mr. Dugan started class.

Throughout English class Bucky worried and tried to come up with theories.  Maybe the grief had finally hit Steve, now that he was at the group home.  That had to be it.  Or Steve could be sick, that was also possible.  Luckily, Bucky had their group assignment and he could turn that in to save Rhodey from developing a stress ulcer, but after class Bucky hurried up to Sharon.  “Have you heard from Steve?” he asked.

“No, you haven’t either?” Sharon asked.  “Oh, no.  I thought he was just mad at me.  Oh, no.”

They headed into the hallway together.  “I tried calling him last night but it went straight to voicemail,” Bucky said.  “I haven’t tried texting him.  Maybe I should text him.”

“Do you know where this group home is?  My mom could probably drive us over after school.  I have practice but this is way more important.”

“I don’t know the address,” Bucky moaned.  “It’s probably confidential or something.  My mom might have his social worker’s phone number.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t panic.”  Sharon held out her hands and took a deep breath.  “It’s only been a day.”

“Right.  Maybe he’s just upset after the funeral and everything.  I mean, he only took like two days off from school.”

“Yes.  Good thinking.  He just needs some time.”

“Or, I thought maybe he was sick.  You know how sometimes when you’re stressed out you get sick.  He could be sick.”

“Maybe.”  They came to an intersection in the hallway where they would need to part ways.  “Okay, we won’t panic.  You can get in touch with his social worker, and tonight we’ll both try calling and texting.”

“Okay.”  Bucky snapped off a salute before heading to his history class.

Bucky followed the plan.  He tried calling Steve again when he got home from school – same as before, straight to voicemail.  He left a message: “HI Steve, this is Bucky.  I just wanted to see how you were doing... You weren’t at school so I was a little worried.  Call me back, okay?”  He tried texting a little while later.  Nothing.

“Mom, do you still have Allison’s phone number?  You know, Steve’s social worker?” Bucky asked as his mother walked through the door, arms laden with groceries.

“Bucky,” she said breathlessly.  “Do you think you could give me a hand with these before you bombard me with questions?”

“I can give you one hand,” Bucky said, and took some of the bags off her arm. 

“Your sarcasm is unnecessary,” Mrs. Barnes huffed.  She dropped the rest of the bags on the counter along with her purse.  “I’ve had A Day.”

Bucky muttered an apology and went outside to get the rest of the groceries out of the trunk.  There were only a few more bags left and he closed the trunk and rejoined his mother inside.  “So do you?” he asked her.

“Do I what?”

“Have Allison’s number.”

“Oh, for the love of God.  Here.”  She dug through her purse, pulled out her phone, and handed it to Bucky.  “What are you calling her for?”

“Steve hasn’t called me,” Bucky said.  “Or Sharon.  I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Then why hasn’t he called me?”

Mrs. Barnes sighed.  “I’m sure there’s a very good reason.”

Bucky ignored that and went into the living room before dialing Allison.  The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up.  Bucky left a voicemail anyway.  “Hi Allison, this is Bucky Barnes, Steve’s friend.  Steve Rogers.  Um, anyway, he hasn’t called me since he got to the group home and he wasn’t in school and I wanted to make sure he was okay.  If you call back this number it’s my mom’s cell phone.”  Bucky added his own cell phone number just in case.  And the house phone. 

All night Bucky waited.  Waited for his phone to ring, or his mom’s phone to ring, or a text or something from someone.  He waited and did his homework and waited and ate dinner and helped his mom clean up and waited. 

“I don’t think she’s going to call you back tonight,” Mrs. Barnes said, appearing in Bucky’s doorway around ten and finding him scrolling around on his phone.  “Remember, she’s responsible for Steve.  She’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“If he’s not calling me, then he’s not okay!”

“Honey.”  She came in and Bucky sat up so she could sit down on his bed.  “I know you care a lot about Steve, but you have to give him some time.  He has a lot of things going on in his life.”

“I _know_ ,” Bucky said.  “But—”

“Sometimes other things are more important than being in a relationship.”

“I _know_ , Mom.  But he hasn’t talked to Sharon either, and she’s his best friend, basically.”

“You told me he was mad at Sharon.”

Bucky looked down at the dark screen on his phone.  “I don’t think he’s really mad at her.  Maybe at her mom.  I don’t know.”  He rubbed his face.  “He was acting so weird the whole day of the funeral.  Like, he barely even said good-bye to me.  And now he’s all alone in that place and he told me he was going to still be at our school but he wasn’t in school today.”

He might have continued whining, but his mother wrapped her arms around him, covered in a plush robe that was soft against his face, and hugged him and said, “It’s okay to be worried, honey.” 

“But what do I _do_?” he asked her shoulder.

“I think you’ve done everything you could.  It’s just a waiting game now.  Hopefully Steve or Allison will call you back.  And if they don’t... there’s not much else you can do.”


	27. Chapter 27

Just in case... That phrase kept echoing in his head:  Just in case.  That was all he’d been able to say.  They kept asking him for a reason and that’s all he could say.  Just in case.

In case what? they asked him. 

He remembered when he’d taken them.  That morning, right after his mom had died, when he’d felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.  He’d taken them because her name was on the bottles.  He’d taken them because he thought they might make his pain go away.

Just in case.

“In case I couldn’t do this anymore,” he had told them finally.

Do what? they asked him.

“Do this,” he’d said, gesturing around him.  “Do any of this.  Be here.  Be... alive.”

Even as he said the words he knew it was the exact wrong thing to say.  And just like that, he knew what was going to happen. 

He was put on suicide watch.  This meant they went through his things with more vigor, removing the shoelaces from his shoes and his belts and ties and anything metal, which meant his school bag was staying in the staff office.  His room upstairs already didn’t have a door, this was standard, everyone changed in the bathrooms, which didn’t have locks.  A staff person would knock on the door every five minutes while he was in there, and he had to answer or they would come in to make sure he wasn’t trying to kill himself.  Suicide watch would last twenty-four hours, and then he would talk to a counselor, and if all went well, he would sign something called a safety contract and have his normal privileges. 

If things didn’t go well, they would bring him to the hospital to be evaluated.

They also took his phone.  Phones were generally allowed during the day, but at night all the residents had to relinquish their connections to the outside world.  There was a “charging station” in the staff office.  “If someone needs to contact you in an emergency, they’ll have to call the house number.”  Steve didn’t know the house number, and now he didn’t even have the opportunity to give that number to anyone else.

Not that there was really anyone else who would need to contact him for an emergency.  It was yet another reminder that it was just him, alone in the world. 

He spent the rest of that night, after sitting at the dinner table eating nothing, lying on his new bed.  The mattress was thin and the sheets smelled funny. His side of the room was bare.  He hadn’t thought about bringing posters to hang up, and the only picture he’d brought was in a metal frame so that was locked up in the staff office.  His roommate, Peter, had made a wallpaper out of posters: Star Wars seemed to be his favorite thing.  Steve supposed posters of anything would at least hide the scuff marks on the white paint and make it look less like a prison cell. 

At least Pete spent most of his time with a pair of big headphones over his ears, so Steve didn’t have to try to talk to him.  It made Steve wonder how many roommates Pete had gone through, if he wasn’t at all curious about Steve.  Then again, Steve wasn’t especially curious about Pete. 

It was easier not to care.

***

Sunday morning brought another meal Steve didn’t want to eat.  The Hispanic kid he’d seen in the kitchen yesterday filled Steve’s plate and then sat down beside him.  “You should eat something,” he said quietly, glancing over at the two staff people – different staff than yesterday.  “I know they got you on watch.  You don’t eat, they think you’re trying to starve yourself.”

Steve picked up his fork and stared at his plate.  The mound of eggs and hash browns and bacon glistened with grease.

“It’s real good.  I made it.”  The kid looked proud of himself.  “I’m Luis, by the way.”  He leaned in and whispered, “I’m the only one here who can cook.”

“I heard that,” said a dark-skinned boy from across the table. 

“And what?” Luis said.

Steve managed to choke down a few bites, then had to cover his mouth with his fist so it didn’t all come back up.

“Here’s the plan for today, boys,” said one of the staff, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair.  “Dave, you’re working at noon, Peter – Pete, headphones off at mealtime.  Pete.”  The male staff walked over and tapped one of the big earpieces.  Pete looked up and immediately removed them.  “Pete, you’re working from three to six.  Scott and Luis, you two have community service this afternoon for that little stunt you pulled last week.”

“Aw, Hope!  Why doesn’t Dave have community service?” Luis demanded.

“He will, but not today.  Because he has a job.”

Luis muttered something that sounded like, “No fair.”

“So you all will be staying back at the house, along with Steve, our newest resident.  Has everybody met Steve?”

They hadn’t, but no one said that.  Steve was still trying to swallow back vomit but he gave everyone a grim smile. 

“The rest of you have the choice to stay back and help with cleaning and then have free time, or go on a hike with Darren.  Or, you can try to convince Darren to take you to the mall or something.”

“Unlikely,” said Darren.

Steve wondered if he would be required to help clean.  Turned out the answer was yes.  He attempted to disappear into the wall after breakfast, to sneak away upstairs, but Hope called him out.  “Steve, you’re on breakfast clean up.  Then you’re vacuuming.”

In a way, it was better to have some mindless task to do instead of lying on his bed doing nothing.  “Don’t worry, man,” said Luis as Steve loaded the dishwasher.  “Weekends are chore days.  During the week we each have a night to do laundry and meals, but most of the time we can just kick back.  Watch TV and whatever.  You know?”

Steve knew.  He already saw the days and weeks of organized activities marching ahead of him with no escape.  “Can I have my laptop so I can do my homework?” he asked Hope, after all his chores were done and everyone else had gone off to do whatever they did: Luis, Scott, and Dave were out in the driveway playing basketball, Pete was in his room listening to music and reading comic books. 

“You can use it downstairs,” she told him.

But of course there was no wireless.  He sighed, wondering if he cared to ask if the group home had internet at all.  He didn’t ask.  He just started typing up an essay for history class and finished the rest of his homework.

“Nice computer.”  Scott and Luis had come in for lunch.  Lunch was a do-it-yourself meal, and Steve watched the two boys make themselves enormous sandwiches and fill the rest of their plates with chips.  “How much did it cost?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said.  His mother had bought it for him a couple of years ago as his big Christmas present.  That had been during her first remission.

“Must be nice, having your own computer,” Scott said.  “If I wanna go online, I have to go down to the library or use my phone.”

“They let you go to the library?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah, if you’re not a delinquent or whatever.”  Steve wasn’t sure if by _whatever_ , Scott meant _suicide watch_.  “Like, you have to tell the staff where you’re going and you have to be back by a certain time, but yeah.”

“This place is way better than the last place I was at,” said Luis.  “They were fucking Nazis there.”

“Dude, you were in lockdown,” Scott said.

Steve tried to focus on his textbooks.  He had thought that most of the kids in a group home would be like him.  He’d sometimes thought of the group home as an orphanage.  He didn’t want to think about how the kids had criminal records and thought his computer was “nice.” 

“You a nerd or something?” Luis asked.

With his computer and open textbooks and notebook, Steve supposed he did look like a nerd.  He shrugged, wishing these guys would just go away.  Unlikely, since he was doing his schoolwork at the dining room table, and that’s where they were eating.

“’Cuz you don’t look like a nerd,” Luis said.  “You’re big.”

“I’m on the football team,” Steve answered.

“You play basketball?  You should come shoot hoops with us.”

“I have a lot of homework,” he said.

“And you two have community service.”  Hope stood in the door to the staff office.  “Your social worker’s picking you up in twenty minutes, so eat fast.”

“Aw, man,” said Scott.

They finally left Steve alone so they could finish eating.  While they were cleaning up after themselves, Pete wandered downstairs to get himself something to eat.

“Steve, can you come into the office for a second?” Hope called.

He hesitated at leaving his computer out and unguarded.  Just a second, she said.  So he left it and went in.  She gestured for him to have a seat.  “How are you doing?” she asked.

That was a loaded question.  “Okay.”

She watched him, her fingers busying playing with a pen – clicking it, twirling it between her fingers.  He was sure she wanted more of an answer than that, but with a question like, _How are you doing?_ she wasn’t going to get more.

“Have you had any thoughts about harming yourself today?” she asked finally.

“No.”

“Good.”  She nodded.  “That’s good.  Now, I noticed you didn’t eat much at breakfast.  Are you feeling hungry at all for lunch?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.  I’d like for you to try to eat something.  I have to report it if you don’t.  Come with me.”

He followed her into the kitchen, where Pete was spreading peanut butter on bread and grooving to his music. 

“There’s peanut butter, jelly, sandwich meat, tuna, all kinds of stuff.  And all these Tupperware have leftovers, you can eat any of those.  Meatballs from dinner Friday, you could make a meatball sub.  Chicken, everything’s labelled.  We throw out anything a week old.”  Hope closed the fridge and looked at him.  “Are you in the mood for anything special?”

Steve still hadn’t recovered from the three bites of breakfast.  He sighed.  “Maybe soup?”

Hope pulled down some ramen from the cabinet and showed him how to make it.  He’d been thinking more like chicken noodle, but he let her make it and then sat at the table with Pete and ate a few spoonfuls of broth while she watched.

“Your social worker will be here around four,” Hope told him.  “Then we’ll do your safety contract and everything will be good.  Okay?”

He nodded.  He was pretty sure a safety contract wasn’t going to make anything all good.

***

First, Allison had him take a quiz, only she called it a “Suicide Risk Assessment.”  The quiz had 4 questions, and the answers were pretty easy.

1\. Have you ever thought about or attempted to kill yourself? 

Correct answer: Not number 1 (Never) – because the pills had already revealed that Steve had thought about it.  So the correct answer was number 2 (It was just a brief passing thought).

2\. How often have you thought about killing yourself in the past year?

Correct answer: Again, Steve had to go with number 2 (Rarely / 1 time).

3\. Have you never told someone you were going to commit suicide, or that you might do it?

Correct answer: Number 1 (No).

4\. How likely is it that you will attempt suicide someday?

Correct answer: Number 0 (Never).

Steve’s issues with the quiz’s answer numbering aside, he felt confident as he slid the completed paper across the table to Allison. 

“So Steve,” Allison said, looking at his answers, “you’ve only considered suicide the one time.  When you took those pills from home.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“And you didn’t think about it ever again after that moment.”

He didn’t answer that one right away.  “I just left them in my bag.  I guess... the thought was that they were there, but I didn’t think about them all the time.  I didn’t even think about it like I was going to...”  The words caught in his throat.  “Kill myself.”

“Okay.”  Allison put the paper aside.  “Let’s talk about your options here.  If you should ever start to feel that sort of thing again.  Instead of taking pills, what else could you do?”

There were the textbook answers:  He could talk to a staff person.  He could call her, or Dr. Fury.  He could call a suicide hotline.  Allison wrote all of these down on another form, including the relevant phone numbers.  Steve could see typed at the top "No-Suicide Safety Contract." 

"Now, what if you're not feeling immediately suicidal, but you're sad and you don't feel like talking to anyone.  What could you do then?"

Another list.  He could write in a journal.  He could "take space."  He could draw or listen to music.  He could make himself some hot cocoa or warm milk.  By the end of this list, Steve was struggling to come up with anything.   Mostly, when he felt sad, he just laid down and stared at the wall.  But that wasn't an answer he could give Allison.

"How about exercise?" Allison suggested.  "Go for a run.  Play some basketball.  Is that something that might make you feel better?"

"Sure," he said, doubtful. 

After an hour of this, he signed the contract and was pronounced Not Suicidal.  Not officially, of course.  "Tomorrow morning you have an appointment with Dr. Fury," Allison told him.  "Nine o'clock.  Tonight I need you to think about anything you might need here that you don't have, and after your appointment we can either go shopping or go to your house and pick it up.  Basically, you have me all day tomorrow, so anyplace you'd like to go out to eat, anything you want to do... We can go to the movies if you want."

_What if I don't want to do anything?_ Steve wondered.  He felt a little bit like Allison had ignored him this whole time, and only now that he was "suicidal" she was giving him more attention.  That didn't seem right.  Especially when Steve knew she had a lot of other clients who probably needed her attention more than he did. 

That night he stayed in his room reading the next book for English class.  He wasn't really interested in it; it was just something to do that didn't involve talking to anyone.  He fell asleep, having forgotten to brush his teeth, and woke up with the indent of the book cover in his cheek.  Pete was moving around the room, getting ready for school. 

"Sorry," Pete said.  He didn't have his headphones on and looked strangely naked.  "I tried to be quiet."

"It's okay."  Steve sat up.

"Where do you go to school?" Pete asked.  Steve told him, and then Steve found out that Pete went to a school three towns away, which meant he had to leave an hour early to get there on time.  At that point Steve was ready to end this conversation, and then Pete said, "Hey, I heard your mom died, too."

Too?  Steve couldn't figure that out until Pete continued.  "My mom had cancer.  She died when I was eleven."

"Oh." 

Steve didn't know what to say.  It didn't seem like Pete expected him to say anything, since he continued gathering up his stuff and then left the room without saying anything else. 

He knew he should probably get up and have breakfast with everyone else, but it was so early it was still dark outside and Steve didn't have his appointment until nine.  It made him feel a little better that his roommate was like him, rather than like the other kids he had met.  He wondered if he'd been assigned Pete as his roommate on purpose, or whether it was just a good coincidence.

***

Allison was running a little late, and then she insisted on stopping at the Dunkin Donuts drive-through for a coffee.  "I was up half the night, got a call at two a.m.  I've had, oh, about four hours of sleep," she said.  She also bought him a coffee too.  "You want cream or sugar or anything?"

"Just black," he said.  "A small."

It hadn't been until he had buckled his seatbelt in the driveway of the group home that Steve had remembered Bucky.

He vaguely remembered Bucky holding his hand in the car on the way to the church, and how his hand had been super sweaty and he had been gripping Steve's hand so tight.  At the time, Steve remembered feeling annoyed, because he hadn't wanted anyone touching him.  He had wanted to fade right out of this world. 

Now, however, he realized that Bucky hadn't been trying to be clingy.  Bucky was afraid of even riding in cars.  He'd said he had panic attacks all the time.  Bucky had probably been having a panic attack then, and was trying to hold it together so he didn't upset Steve, and then Steve had gotten out of the car and just walked away.  Left Bucky there alone to pull himself back together.

And hadn't Bucky said something to him as he was leaving with Allison?  Something about how Steve should call him?  Well, that wasn't really Steve's fault.  His phone had been taken away.  But he could have asked to use the house phone to call Bucky... if he had even had one thought about Bucky this whole time.

He choked down a few sips of the bitter black coffee, feeling like he deserved the nasty taste in his mouth. 

***

Allison seemed relieved later when he said he didn't feel like going to the movies. 

"Now Steve, remember, if you're not up for going to school tomorrow, you don't have to.  The school will excuse up to a week's absence, and you've only used three days."

Leigh, the pink-haired staff person, came out as Allison brought Steve inside.  "Anything new?" she asked.

He shook his head, but Allison had a whole list of new things.  "We picked up some things from home, and there's some new toiletries and stuff."

"Any new medications?" Leigh clarified, as she pulled out the inventory sheets again.

"Nope."

Apparently that necessitated a heated discussion in the staff office with the door closed, like that meant Steve couldn’t hear.  “...don’t think he needs something?  Came in here with pills...”

“...environmental stressors, grief is a natural emotion and he needs to experience it, not have it dulled by medication!”

“And how are we supposed to... with that here?  The reality is that we need him to follow the structure.  We're not staffed for a kid on suicide watch!”

“Medication is a last resort...”

Steve waited on the couch in the living room.  Outside, Scott, Dave, and Luis were playing basketball.  The couch had an unidentifiable stain right in the middle of the cushion beside him.  Steve tried to flip the cushion and found a similar stain on the other side.  It looked suspiciously like someone had peed on it.  Twice.

A sort of rage started burning in his chest.  Who was Leigh to think she knew everything about Steve, that she could diagnose him in five minutes and decide he should be on medication?  His cheeks grew hot.  He probably should have been on some kind of antidepressant this whole time.  But he had managed to keep it together.  He could keep it together now.  Even if it was just to prove Leigh wrong.  Besides, he'd only been here two days, and he hadn't caused any problems.  He hadn't complained about not being able to have all his stuff, or about having to do chores. 

He supposed they weren't staffed for him to stay home from school, either.

“Are you just.... sitting here?”

Steve looked up at Pete.  “Yeah.”

“You’re not even listening to music,” Pete said.  After a beat, he asked, “Dude, do you even have an ipod?  Or even one of those cheapie mp3 players?  A Walkman, maybe?”

“I have a phone,” Steve said.  “An iPhone.”

“Do you have any music on it?”

Steve shook his head.

“Dude.”  Pete stood with his hands on his hips, looking away.  Finally he stepped forward and removed the headphones from around his neck.  “Here.”

“What?”  Only two days and Steve knew this was big.  “I can’t take your headphones.”

“Come on.”  Pete went to sit down next to him, but saw the stained cushion and sat on the other one.  “You got earbuds?”

“In the office.”

“Then here.  Take them.”

“But what are you gonna do?” 

Pete made a duck face and squinted into middle distance.  “Blow your mind.”

***

First it was the Smiths.  “Man, year after my mom died, that was all I listened to,” Pete told him.  Then it was Metallica.  “I was so angry, you know?”  Then Disturbed.  “I started doing all kinds of stupid shit.  Here they call it ‘acting out.’  I was just pissed and tired of being tried like a case number instead of a person.”  Then Pete apparently mellowed out.  “I finally got tired of being depressed and angry all the time,” Pete said, just before a voice chanting “Ooga-chaka ooga-ooga ooga-chaka” blasted into his ears.  “Now I just listen to upbeat stuff,” Pete shouted at him, although with the headphones Steve could barely hear.  “It makes me feel good, you know?”

There was something about the music that helped.  By now it was almost lights out, and they had been listening to music for hours.  Was it possible to go through every stage of grief and recovery in that amount of time? 

“All right, guys, let’s pack it in,” said Leigh. 

Steve removed the headphones and handed them back to Pete.  “Thanks,” he said.  “Sorry I’m not more of a music buff.”

“That’s okay.  You’re kinda like a blank slate.”

Armed with his toothbrush, Steve stepped out into the hallway, but someone was already in the bathroom.  It was an elaborate routine, each boy waiting until the bathroom was open before rushing to be next.  Leigh did her best to organize the chaos.  “No, Dave, Scott was waiting first.  Scott, let’s go.  Spend less time on the hair.  No one to impress but your pillow.”  Finally it was Steve’s turn, and he did what he had to do as fast as he could.  He wished he didn’t have to rush.  He didn’t, actually, but he didn’t feel comfortable just yet taking him time when he knew other people were waiting on him.

Once he got into bed and the lights went out, that was when he realized he still hadn’t called Bucky. He hadn’t even gotten his phone from the staff office.

***

“You’re sure you want to go to school?” Hope asked again.

“Yes,” Steve said.  “And can I have my phone please?”

“After breakfast.  Go eat.”

One bowl of cereal later, Steve had his phone and looked at all the missed calls and texts from Bucky and Sharon and Thor, and even one from Bruce.  He barely had time to read through all of them as he rode in the group home van to school.  Then he was there at school and he figured why bother when he was about to see all those people in a few minutes?

He was nearly to his locker when Sharon and Thor attacked him with hugs.  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he told them, not quite laughing.  He hugged them back.  Three days without anyone hugging him, and only now he felt exactly how long that was. 

Then he saw Bucky, watching him from his locker.  Steve felt the same shitty feeling he’d felt last night, realizing that once again he had forgotten to call. 

“What’s the group home like?” Sharon was asking.  “We were worried.  We thought maybe they weren’t letting you come back to school.”

“It’s okay.” Steve shrugged away from Sharon and Thor.  “I’ll be right back.”

He walked up to Bucky, who shrank back against the lockers like he thought Steve was going to attack him.  “I’m sorry,” Steve said, when he was close enough for Bucky alone to hear, and without even stopping he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and attempted to squeeze all of the worry Bucky must have been feeling out of him.  It took a minute, but Steve didn’t let go until Bucky had sighed and said, “It’s okay.”


	28. Chapter 28

Bucky had spent three days going out of his mind with worry, and that one hug hadn't done much to make him feel better.  Especially after what happened in gym class.

After last Thursday, when Steve told him he should just try, Bucky had decided he was going to do it.  It was a soccer unit, after all, and even though the thought of playing teetered dangerously close to a panic attack, he had made up his mind.  Sam clearly wasn't going to hold his hand.  He had talked to Dr. Hill about it last week and they had come up with a plan that by his next session – this afternoon – he was going to do it.  He was going to join gym class again.

Of course, that had been before Steve left.  Bucky had been hoping for Steve to be there.  Now that he was there, however, Bucky wasn't feeling quite so good about his decision.  Because after Steve had hugged him and said he was sorry, he had returned to his friends and left Bucky there alone.  Bucky hadn't even had a chance to tell Steve what he was going to do.

So Bucky walked to gym class by himself, carrying a plastic grocery bag with his gym clothes.  He arrived before anyone else, and shut himself up in one of the bathroom stalls to change - he didn't feel like having Bruce make any more stupid comments, or anyone staring at him.  He had managed to change into his shorts when the locker room door thumped open, allowing a brief explosion of the hallway chatter to enter, then thumped shut again.  By the voices, Bucky knew it was the whole group of jocks.  Including Steve.

"What's up with you and that freak?" Bucky heard Thor ask.

Bucky froze. 

"Freak?"  That was Steve.  The word had been carefully measured out - he didn't sound angry that Thor would call Bucky a freak.  But he didn't sound happy, either.  Mostly he just made it sound like Thor had chosen the wrong word.

But Thor wasn't one to pick up on subtleties.  "Yeah.  That kid with the one arm.  When did you get to be such good friends with him?  Was his mom friends with yours or something?"

Bucky waited for Steve to call Thor out on that word.  _Freak_.  His heart, already pounding from anxieties about gym class, sounded so loud in his ears that he was almost afraid someone would hear it.

"No," said Steve.

And that was it.  Conversation over.  Other conversations rose and fell while Bucky yanked his sweatshirt off over his head and put on his t-shirt, trying to make as little noise as possible.  He had brought a t-shirt, one with creases in it from being folded in his drawer for so long, but the longer he sat there, waiting for everyone else to move into the gym, the more he wanted to put his sweatshirt on.  So eventually he did.  And then he sat down on the toilet seat. 

Now he _really_ didn't want to participate in gym class.  Maybe Dr. Hill would give him a pass if he explained.  She knew about Steve.  "Do you think having a friend in gym class will help?" she had asked.  Bucky had been sure it would.  He had been sure that if Steve was there in class with him, he would feel better.

Only now did he realize how stupid that was.  Steve still wasn't about to admit to his friends that he was gay, or that he even liked Bucky in any sense of that word.  Even though Steve had hugged him. 

The more Bucky thought about it, the more he felt like the hug had been Steve's way of not explaining anything to him.  Not telling him what had been going on the past three days.  He had apologized, sure, but Bucky hadn't really been looking for an apology. 

He heard the thump of the door as a big group of guys headed into the gymnasium.  Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then stepped out of the bathroom stall and quickly crossed the aisle to put his bag of clothes in a locker. _I can do this_ , he tried to tell himself.  He didn't feel like he could do this.  His legs felt like jello and his head was miles away.

When he stepped onto the wooden floor, he didn't immediately feel heads turn toward him.  That was a good sign.  Still, he kept his head down while he approached Coach Ward.  "Um, hi," he started.

Coach Ward looked up.  "Yes?"

"I, um, wanted to try participating in class today," he said quietly.

"What?"

Bucky wasn't sure if Coach Ward really hadn't heard him or if he was just being a dick.  He seemed like the kind of guy who would yell at a shy person to "Speak up!"

He raised his voice and spoke clearly, like he was talking to an idiot.  "I talked to my doctor and I want to try participating in class today."

"You got a note?"

_Fuck._  "No."

The coach looked at him.  "Why couldn't you join in class before?"

Now Bucky just wanted to punch the guy in the face.  "Uh, I had my arm amputated?" he snapped.

Coach Ward was unfazed.  Or maybe that was just because he wore his sunglasses inside.  Aviators, the kind that said, RESPECT MAH AUTHORITAH!  "Recently?"

"Freshman year." 

The coach glanced down at his arms.  Saw the one, then looked at the empty sleeve.  He gave Bucky enough time to turn his head and see how the other guys were starting to look over this way.  And how Steve wasn't looking at him.  Now, softer, Coach asked, "You really think you can handle it?"

"Yes," said Bucky.

"Then have at it."  Turning, the coach called out, "Line up, ladies!  Warm up laps!" 

For a while it wasn't hard.  Laps were easy enough, although he began to feel exactly how out of shape he was.  Back in eighth grade, his coach had made them run four laps before every practice, a full mile – and if they took more than eight minutes, they had to do burpees. 

He only wished Steve would acknowledge him in some way.  What was that hug this morning all about if Steve was going to turn right around and pretend he didn't exist?  Steve ran side by side with Thor.

It made Bucky even more pissed than Coach had made him.

Then, of course, they had to pick teams.   "Rogers, Stark," barked Coach Ward.  "Pick your teams."

It had been so long since Bucky had participated in gym class that he'd forgotten.  Or maybe he'd never known that particular dread of being picked last, because he'd always been athletic.  Now, suddenly, he feared that he would be picked last. 

Steve's first pick was Thor, and Bucky felt his face flush.  He stared at the floor.  Why had he come up with this stupid fucking plan?  Because of stupid therapy.  Because he'd written some stupid fucking story for English class.  Because one stupid fucking jock made a mean joke on the first day of gym class and Bucky had let it get to him. 

Tony picked Bruce.

The next moments stretched out so long Bucky thought he might have fallen into some alternate dimension where time and space did not exist.  _Please pick me please pick me_ , he thought at Steve. 

"Barnes," Steve said, and for a minute Bucky didn't recognize the name.  He staggered forward trying to recover himself.  _Barnes?_   Why wouldn't Steve just call him _Bucky_ , like he always did? 

But then Steve gave Bucky a little smile as he approached his team, and Bucky tried to relax.  Things were going to be okay.

Playing defense, Bucky didn't have to do a lot.  He preferred offense, but given that he hadn't played in a couple of years, he was okay with defense.  The jocks liked to be overly aggressive, which meant they spent a lot of time at mid-court fighting over the ball.  Bucky made a few good plays when the ball went a little wide of someone's control, kicking it back toward the offensive players. 

Then Tony and Bruce broke through and they headed for the goal. 

Steve had picked Frank Nelson, otherwise known as "Foggy," to play goalie, probably because he'd barely managed to run the four laps at the start of class – Bucky had lapped him, so he might have only managed to do three laps – but Foggy also wasn't exactly adept at catching or blocking or kicking or anything else that being goalie involved. 

Two of the defensive players were actually off-sides, basically playing offense, not that Coach Ward was calling them on it.  That left Bucky and three others.  Two of them were girls from his history class, and they were standing together talking and barely paying attention to what was going on other than to get out of the way when the action got close.  The other defense was a girl named America who was on the girls' soccer team.  She was right in there, trying to get the ball away from Tony and Bruce.  So Bucky ran in there too.

They were all jostling for the ball when a foot connected with Bucky's shin and caught him off-balance, and when he stepped back to right himself, he tripped over someone's leg.  His one arm windmilled to try to get his balance, but he started to fall.

In slow motion, he saw people cringe away from him as he fell.

The looks on their faces said, _I don't want to touch the one-armed freak_.  Their eyes screamed pity.  _He shouldn't be in class with regular people_ , that's what they were thinking.  And when he hit the floor, he heard the screech of Coach Ward's whistle.

Of course he fell onto his bad side.  The impact to his shoulder made him go black for a second.  Still, Bucky rolled and got himself up even as Coach was saying, "Give him some room!"  Like he'd been down and unconscious. Like everyone wasn't already giving him about a mile of room. 

"I'm fine," he said, blinking.  His shoulder throbbed, and he had to resist the urge to reach up and rub it.

"Yeah, I think I'd rather have you go down to the nurse's office and have her take a look," Coach said, eyes unreadable behind his aviators. 

"I'm fine!"  The words echoed in the gym, because everyone else was silent.

"Go to the nurse, and next class have a note from your doctor."  Coach's voice was steel.

"I'll take him down to the nurse's office!" said Foggy, a little too enthusiastically.

Coach nodded.

Steve hadn't even had a chance to volunteer.  Bucky avoided looking at him as he stomped back into the locker room to get his stuff. 

He jerked the locker door open and yanked on his bag so that everything fell to the floor.  "Fucking stupid shit," he mumbled to himself. 

"Um, do you need help?" Foggy asked, behind him.

"No," Bucky snapped.  "Unless you wanna watch me take off my pants?"

Foggy blushed and turned around. 

***

Down the nurse’s office, after Foggy had reluctantly returned to class, Bucky put an ice pack on his shoulder and lay down in the dimly lit side room.  There were four little beds in there, and two of the others were occupied.  He faced away from the others and tried not to feel sorry for himself.

His shoulder really did hurt.  What hurt more was that everyone had seen him fall down.  Even if he’d had two arms, it would have been embarrassing.  The other kids would have laughed at him and made fun of him.  Having only one arm meant that they said nothing.  They pitied him.   _Steve_ pitied him.  That was why he didn’t want to tell his friends he had a boyfriend.  Not because he was afraid to come out.  Because he didn’t want to tell everyone that his boyfriend was a one-armed freak, as Thor had so kindly put it.

Bucky stayed in the nurse’s office through the next period, which was a class he shared with Steve.  He would have stayed longer, but the nurse told him that she would need to call his mother and have her pick him up if he didn’t think he could go back to class.

He carefully slung his bag over his head and settled it so it didn’t hurt his shoulder, and headed to English class.

Steve was already there, talking to Sharon, when he entered the room.  Keeping his head down, he started to walk straight back to his desk.

A tug on his empty sleeve.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked.

Bucky paused there.  Didn't look at Steve.  "I'm fine," he said.  In his voice he heard everything that was not fine, and he pulled away and wove through the desks to get to his seat.

“What’s up with him?” Sharon whispered.

Steve didn’t answer, or maybe he shrugged his answer, Bucky didn’t know.  He couldn't even look at Steve.  He felt like an idiot.  His cheeks burned as he made himself busy taking out his binder and pen and started scribbling a doodle in the margin of his notes. 

He felt stupid and wrong and wished he could go back in time two months, to when he could just hate all the jocks and blame them for all his problems.

***

He actually considered using his shoulder as an excuse not to go to therapy.

The whole day had just sucked.  All Bucky had wanted was to talk to Steve, and there was never an opportunity.  Lunch was the same as usual: Steve sat with his jock friends, and Bucky sat with Kate, because once again Clint hadn’t shown up.  It made Bucky wonder if Clint somehow knew that Nat and Bruce were back together.  Which then made Bucky feel like an asshole for not texting Clint at all over the weekend. 

But after getting home from school and lying on his bed for a while with a bag of frozen peas on his shoulder, he sighed and got up and put on his coat, and rode his bike down to Dr. Hill’s office.

Steve wasn’t in the waiting room when Bucky got there.  He sat where he’d sat on the first day of therapy.  He picked up a brochure and let it fall open on his lap.  Steve’s seat remained empty as the minutes ticked by. 

Bucky supposed that Steve’s new schedule at the group home might mean that he would be late.  Maybe they had changed his therapy schedule.  That would mean Bucky would never see Steve except in class. 

At five minutes of four, Bucky heard feet in the hall and looked up.

“Hi,” said Steve.

Bucky smiled.  "Hi."

Maybe it was force of habit, but Steve went and sat down in the same seat he had sat in on that first day.  He gave Bucky a sad look from across the room.

“Do you have to leave right after this?” Bucky asked.  He cleared his throat so his voice wouldn’t crack.  “Maybe we could hang out?  And talk?”

“Mike will be picking me up after.”  Steve looked at his knees, and didn’t explain who Mike was.  Bucky assumed it was someone from the group home.

“Can I… call you later?” Bucky asked.  He hated how desperate he felt.  He didn’t want to be this person.

“Steve?”  Dr. Fury stood in the doorway to his office.

Steve looked up, then back at Bucky.  “Yeah,” he said.  “That would be good.”

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

When Steve’s phone rang, the two staff were all over him.  “Who’s calling you?” asked Darren.

“My friend Bucky,” Steve said.  He hadn’t even answered the call yet.

“Bucky who?” asked Hope.  She had what Steve had come to know as The Log already open, pen in hand. 

“Barnes.  I stayed with him and his mom before I came here,” Steve said as fast as he could.  “Can I answer it?”

“Yes,” Darren said grudgingly.

Steve pressed the green “Accept” button.  “Hi, Bucky?”  He was already standing and ready to go up to his room.

“Stay down here,” said Darren.

Steve walked over to the dining table and sat down there so he wouldn’t bother any of kids watching TV.  Almost everyone was down here, even Pete with his headphones on. 

“Hi,” said Bucky.  He sounded… down.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked.  “How come you were in the nurse’s office so long?  You missed history class.”

“I’m okay.”

“Okay,” said Steve.  He glanced over at everyone else, who appeared to be engrossed in the television.  He was sure the staff were listening.

“How come…” Bucky started, then sighed.  He didn’t finish.

“How come what?”

Bucky exhaled into the phone.  “How come you didn’t stick up for me today?”

“When?”  Steve had no idea what Bucky was talking about.  “I picked you for my team in gym class.”  When Bucky didn’t say anything, Steve added, “And I would have gone with you to the nurse’s office, but Foggy volunteered before I had a chance.”

Bucky mumbled something.

“What?”

“I meant before,” Bucky said.  “When Thor called me a freak.” 

On the other end of the line, he heard Bucky make a sound that made Steve think he might be crying.

Steve remembered that moment with a sudden new perspective.  At the time, he'd thought he was being pretty assertive, but in a nice way.  Mostly though, he had just felt tired and didn't want to be having that particular conversation with Thor.  A few months ago, he definitely would have told Thor that calling Bucky a freak was wrong.  But Thor's whole question about Steve and Bucky's relationship had thrown him off. 

Now he heard it all again, and heard it the way Bucky would have heard it, and he felt like a terrible person.  Not only a terrible person, but a terrible friend, and an even more terrible boyfriend.

“I’m sorry.”  Steve stared down at the table, where kids who had come and gone long before him had carved words into the table.  "I wanted to tell him not to call you that.  I just... he's just kind of mad because he thought he was my best friend, so I didn't want to yell at him."

"And you didn't think I would know about it, so who cares, right?" Bucky's voice was sharp.  "You didn't even tell him we were friends.  I know you're not going to tell anyone I'm your boyfriend, but you could at least tell him we're friends.  Aren't we?"

Steve's voice was thick when he answered, "Yeah."  He glanced at the other kids and turned away slightly so no one would see how close he was to crying.

Bucky sighed.  "I guess I just... miss you.  Already.  Do you think you can come over?  Like, on the weekend?"

"I don't know," Steve said.  "I have to ask."

"And maybe you can come over for Thanksgiving."  Bucky sounded like he wasn't mad anymore.  "My grandparents are coming over."

"Thanksgiving," Steve repeated.

Last Thanksgiving his mom had still been in the hospital.  He had slept over the night before and then he and his mom had eaten some of the Thanksgiving buffet the nurses had put together.  She had been able to eat solid food then, even though she didn't eat much and threw up later.  That night he had gone home to a dark, empty house. 

Even before that, Thanksgiving and Christmas had been quiet holidays.  His mom often invited people to Thanksgiving at their house, just lonely people from church or her work who didn't have anywhere else to go.  Except for the one year she was dating someone and he had come to dinner.  That year had been really quiet.  And awkward.  Steve had been ten.  After they had broken up, on New Year’s Eve, his mom said, "I'm done with men," and then she had started doing a lot of yoga and reading self-help books and got really involved with church.

"Hello?" Bucky asked.

"I'm here," Steve said.  "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing much, I guess.  So you'll ask about this weekend?"

"What about this weekend?"

"About coming over to my house this weekend.  To hang out."  Now Bucky sounded mad again.  "Unless you don't want to."

"I want to," Steve said automatically.  "I'll ask.  Sorry."

"And ask about Thanksgiving, too."

"Okay," said Steve.

Bucky was quiet.  Steve had figured he was getting ready to say good-bye.  _Now what?_ he wondered.  He hoped he hadn't accidentally done something else wrong.  He replayed every interaction between him and Bucky over and over in his head.  Should he have invited Bucky to sit with him at lunch?  Or gone over to Bucky's table?  They hadn't done that yet.  Hell, it had barely been over a week since they had kissed each other for the first time.  Steve pushed his fist into his eye.  He felt like he had aged years in the past week. 

He felt so tired.

"I miss you," Bucky said finally.

Oh. Steve's chest tightened, because he missed Bucky too, especially at night.  He felt so empty at night. He lowered his voice and turned his back to the living room area.  "I miss you too."

***

The following few days passed without incident.  After Steve explained to Bucky that Mrs. Barnes would have to call Allison and get put on an approved visit list, it was no problem for Steve to spend the night at Bucky's house.  Thanksgiving, however, was another story.

"Allison told my mom that you already have a visit scheduled for Thanksgiving," said Bucky on Thursday, during the five minutes they had to talk before therapy.  Today they sat next to each other.  Steve felt a knot of tension uncoiling when he saw Bucky sitting next to the chair Steve had sat in on Tuesday.  With their legs pressed together, all Steve wanted to do was grab hold of Bucky and not let go.

"Yeah," said Steve unhappily.  "I guess Sharon's mom beat you to the punch."

"But you can choose, right?" 

Steve shrugged.  He supposed he _could_ choose.  But he'd already offended Mrs. Carter by choosing to live at the group home.   It seemed easier not to have to call Mrs. Carter and tell her he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with his boyfriend. 

After that, Bucky didn’t say anything.  _Couldn’t_ say anything, really, because only a few moments later,  Dr. Hill called Bucky in.

Even though things were going well, Steve was a little nervous early Saturday afternoon as he packed a change of clothes in his backpack.  He wanted things to be good between him and Bucky.  He wanted to relax.   That was the thing about living at the group home: he always felt like he was being watched, monitored by the staff and side-eyed by the other boys.  Like they were waiting for him to explode.  He’d heard the staff more than once call the first few days at the group home his “honeymoon period.”  They wondered when his “true colors” would show. 

It was a lot of pressure.  Steve had figured that being put on suicide watch his first night was something like his “true colors.”  Those were the colors he’d never shown anyone else.  Not even any of his friends. 

What did they expect him to do, explode?

“Someone’s here!” called Luis.  He had spent most of the day on the couch, playing Minecraft on a tablet he’d gotten from somewhere.  But now that Mrs. Barnes’s car had pulled into the driveway, Luis had his face practically pressed against the window.  “You got a visit?” he asked, seeing Steve come down with his backpack. 

“Yeah,” said Steve.

“Shit, that kid only has one arm,” Luis said.

Scott jostled to the window as well.  “Let me see!”

Something rose up in Steve, and he approached Scott and Luis.  “Don’t even think about saying anything to him about it,” Steve growled.

Scott and Luis turned to look at Steve.  “Is that a threat?” Scott asked, sounding bewildered. 

“It’s a promise.”  Steve used his height and build to its fullest and towered over Scott sitting on the couch.

“Shee-it,” Luis whispered when Steve finally walked away.

Bucky sprang up the steps and knocked on the door.  Steve was already there to open it.  “Hi!”  His face felt strange.  It took him a minute to figure out why.

It was because he was smiling.

The whole time Mrs. Barnes was in the staff office with Leigh signing him out, Bucky looked around and asked questions.  "Where's your room?  Can I see it?" (Leigh leaned out of the office and told him firmly, "No visitors upstairs.")  "Is this where you watch TV?  Does someone cook dinner for you, or do you have to cook for yourself?" 

Scott and Luis had gone back to playing Minecraft, although Steve spied them peeking up at Bucky.  He gave them a look and they quickly stared down at the tablet again.  He didn't even know how they had noticed Bucky's missing arm.  Bucky had the sleeve of his black hoodie tucked into the front pocket like usual.  Steve did notice how Bucky's hair clung damply to his forehead, which made Steve feel even more protective.  Bucky had ridden in a car just to come see him.  Maybe even had a panic attack. 

Suddenly he couldn't wait to get in the car and give Bucky a big hug.

***

"So, what do you boys want to do tonight?" Mrs. Barnes asked. 

Bucky wasn't sure he could answer.  He was trying to breathe semi-normally, and pressing his back into the seat, and gripping Steve's hand.  They had only just pulled out of the group home's driveway, and already Steve was trying to extract his hand from Bucky's grasp.  No, he thought, or thought he had only thought, except the word emerged from his throat as a low moan.  

"It's okay," said Steve, and once he had his hand free, he let Bucky transfer to his other hand, and wrapped his arm around Bucky's shoulders.  

Exhaling a shaky breath, Bucky tried to believe that it would be okay.

"You could go to the movies," his mother suggested.  She seemed to think that as long as she kept talking, Bucky wouldn't go into a full-blown panic attack.  "Or the mall?  Maybe bowling?"

"Are there any good movies out?" Steve asked.

"I think there's a new Nicholas Sparks movie."  Mrs. Barnes smiled at them in the rearview mirror.

When Steve didn't answer, Bucky swallowed and said, "I can't go to see that in public.  I have a reputation to uphold."

Steve laughed.  Bucky gave a shaky sigh and felt his muscles unbunch, just a bit.

"Well, maybe there's some other movie.  We can check the listings when we get home.  And there's bowling!  Or the arcade at the bowling alley."

"Maybe pizza and Netflix would work better," said Bucky after a minute, since it didn't seem like Steve wanted to go out anywhere.  And now that Steve was touching Bucky for pretty much the first time since Tuesday morning, he didn't really want it to stop.  In public, Steve would most definitely not be holding his hand or hugging him.  Yes, he thought, resting his sweaty neck on Steve's arm and sighing a little, pizza and Netflix.

***

By night's end, Bucky had practically forgotten about the rocky week they'd both had.  They devoured a large pizza between them while his mother fixed herself a salad and chatted on the phone with some friend from work.  Then, carrying along her glass of wine, she headed up to her bedroom.  “Be good,” she said, giving Bucky a knowing wink.

He rolled his eyes and snuggled back into the couch.  His mom might as well have said, “Be safe!”  Like the Post-It note on the box of condoms he had found on his bed after school yesterday. 

“Mo-om!” he had whined to the empty house.  “Oh, my god.”  Then he had hidden the box in his underwear drawer.  There would be no reason for Steve to go in his underwear drawer, right? 

He had been ready to never speak of it again, but of course when they sat down for dinner last night, she had said, "Did you get what I left on your bed?"

"Yes," he had said sharply.  "God, Mom."

"Well, I know your father had this talk with you a long time ago."  Her voice had wavered only slightly on the last half of that sentence, and Bucky had swallowed hard and stared down at his plate, appetite gone.  "But I thought you might need a little reminder.  Since he's not..."

He didn't want to feel guilty.  Of course he felt guilty. 

"Thanks," he had muttered.  "But Steve and I aren't doing... _that_.  Yet."

But Steve _was_ sleeping over.  And even though he had put his backpack and stuff in the guest room, Bucky was pretty sure Steve would end up in Bucky's bed.  He hooked his left shoulder under Steve's armpit and wrapped his right arm around Steve's waist. 

The movie wasn't anything special, the newest Terminator movie.  "I want a movie where I don't have to think," Steve had said.  "And nothing sad."

Bucky had already lost track of the plot.  He found himself listening to Steve breathing.  And looking over at Steve's neck.  Steve had such a nice, close shave.  Bucky wondered if Steve had to shave every day.  Bucky did.  He always seemed to have a five o'clock shadow.  But Steve had such fair hair that it was possible he didn’t need to.  His neck was probably really soft.  

Also, he smelled good. 

***

Strangely enough, Steve kept thinking about Bucky's arm.  Or lack thereof. 

When Bucky cuddled up under Steve's arm, Steve realized that it was almost better.  If Bucky'd had an arm around his back, it would have been super uncomfortable.  But this was nice.  And Bucky still had another arm to wrap around him. 

But there were always going to be people like Luis and Scott who would look at Bucky and that would be all they saw.  And they would see Steve with Bucky and think Steve was dating him out of pity.

(If they ever saw Steve with Bucky...)

( _What's up with you and that freak?_ )

And there was nothing Steve could do to make that not be the first thing they thought.  He could stand up for Bucky, and call them out on being rude, but he couldn't change their first impression.

He was working himself up and he knew it. 

And then Bucky kissed him.

A soft little kiss on his throat, and all Steve could do was sigh and close his eyes.  He didn't deserve Bucky.  Sure, everyone else thought Bucky was angry and mean, and maybe Steve deserved that Bucky.  He defeinitely didn't deserve a Bucky who would forgive him for that whole thing with Thor.  For not telling people Bucky was his friend.  His boyfriend.  A Bucky who gave him nice kisses and didn't pressure him to come out of the closet or do anything beyond kissing.  He wasn't even pressuring Steve to kiss him. 

So Steve tried to convince himself that this was okay.  That he didn't have to do anything to deserve Bucky's loyalty.  He tilted his head back – no, that made him want to cry a little at how good it felt, those lips touching his throat so softly, like he didn't want to be too insistent.

Steve couldn't just let Bucky do this and not show at all how he felt.  He hadn't done nearly enough of that. 

Lifting his head up, he put a hand on Bucky's cheek.  Pulled his face up.  Pressed their mouths together.  Lingered there, inhaling Bucky.  Feeling his senses come alive in a way they hadn't in a long time.  Not since Halloween.  Since before.

Just like that, it fell apart. 

"I'm sorry," he said after a little sob escaped against Bucky's face.  They were so close he could feel Bucky's eyelashes flutter open.  "I'm sorry."

"We don't have to--" Bucky said.  "I didn't mean to--"

"No."  Steve took in a deep breath and blinked his eyes clear.  "I want to."  And despite the snot that threatened to run from his nose, he kissed Bucky again, harder, mouth open. 

Bucky made a noise in his throat.  It wasn't quite a moan but it was a good sound, and Steve felt it affect him.  Made him want to press his whole body up against Bucky and taste every inch of his mouth.  Bucky's hand rubbed at his back. 

How had Bucky ended up on his lap?  Steve was too wrapped up to care about anymore more than pulling Bucky closer and kissing his lips, his chin, his jaw, his neck.  Behind them, the movie's heavy explosions covered the little sounds they made.  When Bucky sucked on his neck, Steve could only breathe hard in his ear, amazed that anything could feel this good.

He had a moment then, when he had to gasp and all his blinking couldn't keep back the tears in his eyes.  How could he be enjoying himself?  His mother was dead. 

***

Bucky pulled back when he heard Steve sniff and tasted the wet salt that had dripped down Steve's neck.  "Are you okay?" he whispered. 

He wanted Steve to say yes. 

Steve just sniffed again and let go of Bucky's waist to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve.  "I'm fine," Steve said.

"Okay," said Bucky.  He slid from Steve's lap. 

"Wait, no."  Steve grabbed Bucky's hips and hoisted him back up.  "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Steve," Bucky said, and since he was back face-to-face with Steve, he kissed him.  A short kiss, though.  He had to make sure Steve really wanted to do this.  Make out. 

Steve didn't say anything.  He couldn't seem to look Bucky in the eye.  Bucky started to get up, only to have Steve keep him there.  "I'm going to get some tissues," Bucky laughed.  Another kiss, and Steve let him go. 

When he returned, holding the tissue box, Bucky swung his leg right over Steve's legs.  He was getting to like this spot. 

"Thanks," said Steve.  He honked his nose into a tissue, which made them both laugh.  "Sorry.  I don't know why I started crying."

"It happens.  Sometimes it just comes out of nowhere."  Bucky kissed a tear that had started to run down Steve's cheek.  Pressing their foreheads together, he added, "At first it's like everything reminds you.  Everything hurts.  And then it's less and less.  You think you're getting better, moving on, and then suddenly some random stupid thing brings it all back.  Like getting stabbed.  And then you feel guilty for forgetting how much you miss them."

"I felt guilty for being happy."  Steve took Bucky's face in his hands and finally looked at him.  His blue eyes swam under a mirrored layer.  "I just wanted to not feel sad."

Bucky's hand circled Steve's wrist.  "I think your mom would want you to be happy.  And I'm not just saying that because I want to make out with you."

That made Steve laugh, and Bucky would have hugged him except Steve was still holding his face.  Rubbing his thumbs over Bucky's cheeks.  And he really liked it.  He wanted Steve to kiss him again and keep holding his face like this.

With another sniff, Steve did kiss him.  Bucky didn't care that it was wet and sloppy. 

He wanted Steve to be happy, too.


	30. Chapter 30

They did not end up having sex.

They did, however, end up in the same bed, practically naked. 

After the movie ended, Bucky and Steve were still making out, and somewhere in the back of Bucky's head he heard the music looping on endless repeat and thought to himself, _Wow, that's annoying_.  Then he'd be distracted by something like a new spot on Steve's neck he hadn't tasted yet and it was forgotten, until he heard the creaky step at the top of the stairs and suddenly he had hurled himself from Steve's lap and started fiddling with the remote.

"Boys?  I'm going to bed now.  Don't stay up too late."

"Okay, Mom!" Bucky called.

"Good night, Mrs. Barnes!" said Steve, and Bucky wondered how he had ever fallen for someone so freaking nice.  So he tugged Steve down to kiss him again.

Eventually, though, they made it up to Bucky's bedroom, and Steve started to go into the guest room.  Bucky pulled Steve into his room and closed the door. "What do you normally wear to bed?" Bucky asked. 

"Pajamas," Steve answered slowly.

That wasn't the answer Bucky was looking for, but he knew that at the group home Steve would have to wear PJs.  "I mean, like, when you were at home."  He swallowed nervously, hoping this wasn't a touchy subject.  "In your own bed.  What did you wear?"

"Oh.  Just my underwear," Steve said.

"Me, too," said Bucky.  He grinned, shifting from foot to foot. 

When Steve finally understood where Bucky was going with this, he could only say, "Oh."

Bucky had reached out and tugged at the hem of Steve's shirt.  Steve blushed a little as he stooped a bit to allow Bucky to drag his t-shirt over his head.  The result left his hair looking like a fuzzy duckling, but Bucky was a little more consumed with seeing Steve's naked torso.  He hadn't realized that it was possible for someone to have abs like that.  His chest was huge.  Bucky wanted to touch it.  He wanted to have all of that pressed up against him all night.

Excited, Bucky tried to haul up his sweatshirt, but realized halfway through that having no shirt on meant that Steve would see his stump.  Not just the stump, but all the scars, and suddenly Bucky was stuck in his sweatshirt trying to keep the t-shirt underneath on.  Steve started to help, and Bucky hissed, "I can do it myself!"

Sweatshirt off, he tugged his t-shirt down.  He knew he was scowling.  He'd been thinking with his dick, which was definitely hard. 

"Why don't you take this off?" Steve asked quietly, tugging at Bucky's t-shirt. 

Bucky couldn't look at him.

"Hey."  Steve tugged him closer.  God, all that skin.  Bucky couldn't think, especially not when Steve's big, bare arms wrapped around him.  "If you're embarrassed about your arm, you don't have to be."

When Bucky didn't – couldn't – answer, Steve pulled up the back of Bucky's shirt.  The lack of arm sure made it easy for Steve to pull it up enough to pop the neck hole over Bucky's head, even though Bucky wasn't lifting his other arm to indicate that he wanted this to be happening.  He kept his face pressed against Steve's pecs as Steve ran his hand over skin that hadn't been touched by anyone but a doctor in two years.

As Steve's hot palm moved up his ribcage, Bucky shuddered.  He had never been able to imagine allowing anyone else to see him like this and still find him attractive.  Even with his eyes closed he could clearly see the scars that radiated out from his shoulder, deep red against his pale skin.  The dark twisted lumps and the puckered places where there had been stitches and more scars.  He could see them as Steve traced over them with a finger. 

It was a good thing Steve was pressing Bucky to his chest with his other arm because the way Bucky shook now, he'd probably fall down if Steve let him go.  He waited for Steve to tell him he was gross and ugly and maybe Bucky was right, he should put his shirt back on.

And then Steve lowered his head and kissed him, and he broke.

Steve held him the whole time he cried.  It seemed to last a long time, but it probably wasn't all that long, and when he was at the point of sniffling and catching his breath, Steve whispered, "Can I take off your pants?"

_Oh, fuck_.  Bucky grinned and blinked and thought about unsexy things like how much homework he would need to do tomorrow and cleaning his room, because his waning erection had returned with a vengeance.  Earlier this morning, after his shower, he had selected a good clean pair of boxers, subconsciously preparing for this possible situation.  Still, he couldn't remember which pair he had put on until Steve's fingers popped the button of his fly and he saw the black waistband.  _Oh, thank god_.

Bucky's excitement was pretty obvious by the time his pants dropped to his ankles, and his hand was shaking too much to be much good at taking Steve's pants off in the same smooth way.  Most of the time he had trouble doing the same to his own pants, so he sat back on the bed in relief when Steve swiftly yanked them down, revealing... tighty whiteys. 

Never had Bucky considered plain old white briefs sexy, but with Steve's boner pushing at the fabric and even _more_ of Steve's skin exposed... well, they were the sexiest fucking underwear Bucky had ever seen.

What followed was a solid hour of rolling around on Bucky's bed, first above the covers, then under the covers – they both got cold despite the heat of their friction, until finally their mouths were raw and there was nowhere to go from here unless they wanted to actually take it to the next step, which neither of them were ready for.  At least for Bucky, he had no idea even how to initiate anything.  He'd never done anything more than kissing.  Was the next step oral?  If they were going to do anything that required a condom, they would need lube, and Mrs. Barnes had not left that particular gift.

For a long time, Bucky lay in Steve's arms, wondering if Steve was asleep, and thinking about the boner in his pants.  He was surprised at how long he'd had it.  Then he thought about Steve's boner, which he could feel pressing against his ass...

Eventually he got up, trying hard not to wake Steve, even though he was pretty sure Steve wasn't asleep, and went into the bathroom and ran the water in the sink while he jacked off.  After he returned to bed, Steve also went into the bathroom and ran the water. 

In the morning, Bucky woke up and immediately felt the stump of his arm cold and hanging outside of the blankets.  Moving carefully, he dragged the sheet up to his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"Uh, nothing," said Bucky. 

Steve pulled the sheet away and kissed Bucky's shoulder. 

Ready to cry again, Bucky looked over at him.  "You don't think it's ugly?"

"No.  I don't think you're ugly."  Reaching out, Steve smoothed down Bucky's hair, which he was sure stuck up all over the place.  He knew what it normally looked like in the morning. 

A knock on Bucky's door made them both jump.  "Boys!  I'm making breakfast!"

"Thanks, Mom," Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.  Of course, then he felt bad, because he still had a mother to nag him and ruin any chance of a morning make out session.

What followed was a lazy Sunday, in which Bucky's mom didn't make him do any of his usual weekend chores (he was sure she'd be on him about taking out the trash tonight) and the two boys spent most of the day outside playing.  Bucky had asked Steve, a little shyly, if Steve would play soccer with him in the backyard.  The cold fall air felt good on his face after an hour of running around (and a few pauses to kiss breathlessly, then jump away laughing). 

All in all it was a good visit, and a good week that followed, and another visit the next weekend, too.  Of course Steve hadn't done much more at school than say hi to Bucky in the hallways and maybe talk to him before class.  But it helped that he didn't mind Bucky calling him almost every night.

With things settled, Bucky could concentrate on other things at school, like Clint's non-existent love life.  "Where have you _been_?" Bucky demanded when Clint finally showed up at his locker.  He had dark bags under his eyes and a bruise on his face.  "Did your stepfather do that to you?"

"Naw," said Clint.  The way he drawled the word let Bucky know he was baked out of his mind.  "That was Bruce."

"Bruce—" Bucky lowered his voice.  "Bruce Banner _hit_ you?"

"S'my fault," Clint said.  "Shouldn'a tried to kiss Nat."

"What?  _What_?"

How had he missed so much?  "I've been sitting with Kate at lunch all week and you're skipping school doing this shit?"

"Yeah."  Clint chuckled and rubbed the back of his head.  "It was nice, though."

"Getting punched?"

"Naw, the kiss."

Bucky sighed.  "Okay.  Tell me the whole story."

"I was juss riding my bike around on Saturday night and there was a mega party over at that big guy's house.  Thor.  That's his name.  Anyways, I saw Bruce's car and figured Nat would be there and I thought, I dunno, because I was high or whatever, that if I could just talk to her I could tell her how I felt.  You know?  And I found her.  Only except when I got her alone I couldn't talk so I just kissed her, and she kissed me back.  Dude, it was, like, the best kiss ever."

"Have you ever been kissed before?" Bucky asked suspiciously.

"Shut up," Clint said.  "Course somebody told Bruce and he got all pissed and hit me and welp, now he and Natasha are done."  Now Clint was full-on grinning.

"Dude!" said Bucky.  "Why are you in school, then?  Aren't you worried that Bruce will beat you up again?" 

"Man, he didn't beat me up!  Barely got a punch in before Nat jumped all over him."

"You're sure they broke up?"

"I think so."  Now Clint appeared to have some doubt.  He squinted down the hallway.  "Do you see her?  I know if I talk to her it'll all be okay."

"Uh..."  Bucky added his non-drug-impaired eyesight to the hunt.

He did not see Bruce or Natasha, but he did see Steve, and every time he saw Steve now he saw what was underneath those clothes, and well, he had to look away fast before his body reacted. 

At lunch Natasha didn’t sit with Bucky and Clint and Kate.  Instead, she sat with some of the other cheerleaders at the end of the jock table.  Sharon, Pepper, and the other girls surrounded her like a wall.  Bruce sat at the other end.  He looked pretty miserable, which he totally deserved, in Bucky’s mind.  He looked to be telling Steve the whole story. 

“I don’t understand why she isn’t sitting with us,” Clint muttered. 

“She was kind of back with Bruce even when she was sitting with us,” Bucky pointed out. 

“This is so stupid,” Clint said, and then he stood up and walked out of the cafeteria. 

Kate watched him go.  “He’s just leaving?” she asked.

“I guess so.”

Bucky felt bad for her; she probably had no idea what had happened over the weekend.  When she had commented on Clint’s black eye, he had completely ignored her. 

Over the next few days, Bucky came to understand exactly how Kate felt.  Steve didn’t mention anything about Thanksgiving.  And when Bucky’s mom called to schedule a visit for the weekend before the holiday, she said Steve already had a visit booked.

“With who?”

“Bucky, you know they can’t give that information out.  Why don’t you just ask him?”

Steve didn’t know anything about a visit, not until that night, when he asked the staff about it.  “It’s the Carters,” he told Bucky on the phone that night. 

“That’s not fair,” said Bucky. 

“I stayed at your house the past two weekends.”

“That’s not what I mean.”  Bucky exhaled in frustration.  “You’re visiting her house on Thanksgiving.  Right?  That’s still happening?”

“Yeah.” 

In the wake of Steve’s silence, Bucky felt his anger growing.  “I mean, you’re going to stay with her for, like, four days.  And this weekend, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, have you asked if you can stay at my house for part of the time?  Like, you have Thanksgiving dinner with her family and then maybe on Saturday you can come to my house for the rest of the weekend?”

Steve didn’t say anything for a long time.  Then he said, “No, I didn’t ask.”

“Oh.”  Bucky didn’t know what else to say.  It was pretty clear how Steve felt.  “Okay.  I guess if you don’t want to stay at my house anymore—”

“You and Sharon don’t have joint custody of me!”

Never had Bucky heard Steve raise his voice, or speak sharply.  Not like this.  It stunned him into silence.

“Sorry,” said Steve.  “I just… this is hard.”

“No, I’m sorry.  I guess I didn’t think of it like that.  I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I want to be with you, but I want to hang out with my other friends, too.”  Steve sighed.  “And when they heard that I could stay at their houses over the weekends, they got so excited.  I guess Thor had this big party last weekend and I didn’t even know about it.  They kept it secret from me.  They didn’t want to hurt my feelings because I couldn’t go.”

“And now you can,” said Bucky flatly. 

The past two weekends had been so great.  Like he and Steve had been in some insulated happy bubble. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding just as unhappy as Bucky.

The next day at school, Bucky glared daggers at Sharon throughout English class.  He would have continued through the rest of the day, but Steve pulled him aside after class.  “Don’t be mad at Sharon.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Bucky said, “if she wasn’t so greedy.”

“Her mom set it up, okay?  And she’s letting Sharon throw a party this weekend.  Sharon barely had anything to do with it.”

“Fine,” said Bucky.  “I guess I should just be mad at Mrs. Carter then?”

“If you’re going to be mad at someone, just be mad at me.”

Bucky met Steve’s eyes.  He’d been trying so hard not to be mad at Steve.  But if he couldn’t be mad at Sharon or her mom, he was mad at Steve.  Steve could just say no.  But clearly Steve didn’t want to spend this weekend or Thanksgiving at Bucky’s house. 

“Fine,” said Bucky, and turned to stomp off.

Steve’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Let go of me!”  The words came automatically.  Bucky wished he could take them back.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” said Steve.  “It’s just… it’s hard to—”  Suddenly Steve stopped, looking over Bucky’s shoulder.  “Never mind, it’s stupid.  See you later.”

When Bucky turned around, he saw a pack of jocks heading his way.  Great, he thought, and glared at the floor as he headed toward them.

“Hi.”

He heard this as he was passing them.  He looked up, not sure why.  No one ever said, “Hi,” to him in the halls, except Steve and Kate and Natasha and sometimes now Sharon.  The only person looking at him was Thor.

Bucky gave him a confused and partly disgusted look, not sure if Thor had even been the one to say it, or if he had, if he’d been saying it to Bucky.  He just remembered that comment of Thor’s in the locker room. 

_Stupid jocks_.

It just wasn’t fair.  Steve was Bucky’s boyfriend, but they could barely spend any time together.  Last weekend had been more of the same, sleeping together half-naked, and Bucky had been hoping that maybe this weekend they could do something a little bit more.  But no, Sharon had to come along and ruin everything.  Now there would be two whole weekends where Bucky wouldn’t get to spend any time alone with Steve.

Unless… he went to Sharon’s party.  He wondered if Clint would be down to be his wingman.  Then he remembered, and discarded the idea.  Clint and Bruce in the same place?  Bad idea. 

But Clint might want a wingman…


	31. Chapter 31

Staying at Sharon’s wasn’t nearly as awkward as Steve had thought it might be. 

Of course, part of that was because the Carters had given Sharon permission to throw a party.  After picking Steve up from the group home, they dropped Sharon and Steve off at the house and headed off to spend a night at a hotel near a casino.  “Call us if you need anything,” Mrs. Carter said.

“Your parents are cool with you having a party, and they’re not even gonna be home?” Steve asked as they drove away.

Sharon shrugged.  “They know we’re responsible.  I told them if things got out of control, I’d call the police myself to break up the party.  Also, you and I will be cleaning tomorrow before they get home.”

“Oh, I see.”  Steve laughed a little, despite the sudden wish he had told Allison or one of the group home staff that he’d rather have a visit with Bucky this weekend.  At Bucky’s house, it would have been low-key.  Quiet.  No cleaning. 

But when Sharon asked if he wanted to stay over for a visit, last week, Steve had been feeling kind of bad for spending all his free time with Bucky.  He didn’t want to lose his other friends, and all they talked about were the parties he hadn’t gone to.  He was also feeling like he needed to have a drink and listen to loud music, and not talk about his feelings and cry, both of which seemed to happen all the time with Bucky.  He hadn’t realized this was the last weekend before his Thanksgiving visit with the Carters. 

The thing was, it seemed too complicated to try to change his visits.  He’d have to tell the staff, then probably call Allison, and then she’d probably want him to tell Mrs. Carter personally that he didn’t want to have a visit.  It was easier just to leave his visit schedule the way it was…  even though he’d rather have a weekend off at this point.  Luis had made a comment the other day, something to the effect of, “Looks like Pete’s got his own room again this weekend.”  None of the other kids had friends to visit every weekend. 

It made Steve feel guilty.

Sharon was pulling out large serving bowls.  “So I bought pretzels, cheese curls, and three different flavors of chips.  Also tortilla chips, for the salsa.  Do you think that’s enough?  I could probably order some pizzas.”

“How many people did you invite?” Steve asked. 

“Just the usual crowd.”

“Uhhh…” Steve wasn’t sure how to answer Sharon’s earlier question.  “The usual crowd” meant the entire football team and all the cheerleaders, and usually also meant that at least fifty other people would show up. 

“Well, you and I need to eat.  Can’t drink on an empty stomach.  Should I order our usual?”  Cell phone out and at the ready, Sharon waited for his confirmation.

_Our usual_.  That meant half-pepperoni, half-pineapple.  For some reason this whole exchange brought Steve back in time, to when they’d been dating.  “Um, yeah.  Okay.”

“I’ll order, if you can bring up the keg?”

“You got a keg?” Steve said. 

“Yeah.”  She looked at him like this was no big deal. 

No big deal for someone like Tony, who knew everybody and had arrangements with everybody.  Or Thor, who had a fake ID.  But for Sharon? 

“Um, you know how heavy kegs are?”

“You’re strong.”  Sharon flashed him a smile.  “And it’s a half keg, anyway.  It’s in the garage?”  She dialed the phone and stuck it between her ear and shoulder so she could wrestle open a family-size bag of barbeque potato chips.

When he returned, hauling the half-keg and leaving it near the stove, Sharon said, “Okay, so pizza will be here in half an hour.  I was thinking we could put the keg near the trash, and then the cups can go on the counter right there.  That way people will know where the trash is, and not leave their cups all over the place.”

“How did you get a keg, anyway?  Did Tony hook you up?”

“No,” Sharon said.  She didn’t seem to understand why he was so interested in it.  “My dad bought it.”

Steve nearly dropped the heavy metal cylinder on his foot.  “He did?”

“Yeah.  He’d rather have us drink legally and safely than have us pay some drug dealer to buy us beer, or whatever.”

Steve couldn’t even imagine how this scenario had gone down.  He thought he knew the Carters pretty well.  Actually, now that he thought about it, all Sharon had to do was ask and Mr. Carter would do anything for her. 

“He locked up his liquor cabinet, though.  His good stuff.  There’s still, like, vodka and rum and stuff we can drink.”

“And the keg,” said Steve.

“It’s not that big of a deal.”  Sharon opened another bag of chips.  “Lots of parties have kegs.”

“I guess.”  Steve took a handful of chips.  Maybe if he was eating, he wouldn’t keep harping on Sharon over this.  It just didn’t seem right.  “I don’t really think it’s legal for us to drink, whether your dad bought the beer or not.”

Sharon exhaled and faced him with a hand on her hip.  “Steve, it isn’t like you’ve never had a drink before.  Come on.  This will be fun!”

He tried to believe her.  Even as they “party-proofed” the house, hiding all breakables in Sharon’s parents’ bedroom and putting signs on the doors that were off-limits, Steve didn’t have a good feeling. 

Pizza, eaten in the newly cleared-out living room, felt weird.  He kept remembering when they’d get a pizza before heading out to a party, and Mr. and Mrs. Carter would stand around the kitchen and chat with them about their future.  How their classes were going, what were they thinking about majoring in, would they be going to the upcoming dance?  A constant interview.

“Are you going to ask Bucky to go to the winter formal with you?” Sharon asked, and Steve nearly choked on his pepperoni pizza.

“Um.”  He wiped sauce off his chin.

“Sorry.  Sometimes I forget you haven’t told anyone else yet.  I guess you probably have to do that first?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”  Steve folded his pizza and shoved it into his mouth. 

“I just… Sorry, I don’t mean to stick my nose into your business.  But, like, if you and Bucky are boyfriends, wouldn’t you want to sit with him at lunch and stuff?  Half the time he sits by himself.  You could just invite him to sit with us.”

Steve had his mouth full.

“I see you guys looking at each other at lunch.  Like, it’s super cute.  Sometimes I wonder how no one else sees how you look at each other.  It’s totally obvious.  Or maybe just obvious to me, because I know.  How long have you guys been dating, anyway?”

Sharon waited for him to answer, so he swallowed painfully.  “Um, not very long.  Since Halloween, I guess.  That Halloween party at Tony’s.”

“Oh.”  Sharon looked sad for a minute, then her face snapped into a smile.  “Well, yeah, so not very long.”

Steve wiped his mouth again.  The pizza no longer looked very appetizing.  “When’s the winter formal?”

“January 16th,” Sharon answered without hesitation.  “You have plenty of time.”

Did he?  Steve calculated the weeks.  Less than two months away.

He stared at his uneaten half of the pizza.  He was imagining the gym decorated as it had been last year, the soft romantic glow of white Christmas lights strung up across the ceiling and white paper lanterns hanging down.  He was imagining Bucky in a suit.  Maybe a dark blue shirt under the jacket, to match his eyes.  He was imagining taking Bucky’s hand and going out to the dance floor.  Like that eighth grade dance, only better, because Steve wouldn’t be afraid to ask Bucky to dance with him. 

“I can help you plan it!” Sharon was saying when Steve tuned back in.  “I mean, I know winter formal isn’t prom, but it would be a big deal for both of you, you know?”

“What?” Steve asked.

Sharon looked at him.  “Sorry.  I like to plan things.  You can ask him however you want.”

In the quiet time waiting for the first people to arrive, Steve thought about that.  Asking him.  The idea made his body go cold and hot in flashes.  He wanted to.  He wanted to dance with Bucky in front of everyone, so Bucky didn’t feel so alone. 

“…make sure to keep Bruce and Natasha away from each other,” Sharon was telling him when the doorbell rang.  “Oh, someone’s here already!”

***

It hadn’t taken much convincing.  _Steve told me Sharon’s having a party 2nite_ , Bucky had texted Clint.  _Want another black eye?_

_Nat will be there?_

_I’m sure_

_And Banner?_

_Dunno.  Probably_

Clint had shown up on Bucky’s doorstep five minutes later.

“Have you talked to Nat after last weekend?” Bucky asked him.  The black eye had faded to a dull purple.

“We’ve been texting.”  Clint had a goofy smile on his face.  “Mostly she talks about what a jerk Bruce is.”

“So, um, you haven’t told her how you feel?”

“Dude, I fuckin’ kissed her.  Actions speak louder than words, my friend.”

Not that Bucky wanted to skip the party, but he felt just a little bit guilty for using Clint to get to Steve.  “You haven’t, like, asked her out?  You could have asked to her go out tonight.  Then you wouldn’t have to go to a party where Bruce would be.”

“Uh, no.  You think I should?”

Bucky glanced at the time on his phone.  “She’s probably already at Sharon’s.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked.

“No.”  Clint laughed.  “But come on.  My life foundation is made of bad ideas.”

They walked over to Sharon’s.  Cars lined the street and all the lights were on at the Carters, illuminating groups of people smoking out on the porch.  Bucky shivered in his leather jacket.  He hung back behind Clint as they approached the front door.

What if Steve didn’t want him there, at the party?  Who was Bucky going to talk to when Clint found Natasha, especially if Steve didn’t want to talk to him?

He felt himself start to warm with a sudden anger. 

At the very least, he was Steve’s friend.  Steve could treat him like a friend, if nothing more.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bucky heard as soon as he and Clint set foot inside.

Thor glowered at Clint. 

“Uh,” said Clint.  He took a step back and bumped into Bucky.

“Didn’t you cause enough trouble last time?” Tony added.

“What, are you Banner’s bodyguards?” Bucky said.  “We have just as much right to be here as you guys.”  Why did he said that? 

“Yeah, okay.”  Tony’s sarcasm laid down the law.  He poked a finger into Clint’s chest.  “You fuck around with someone else’s girlfriend, that makes you an asshole.  That fight last weekend put two holes in the wall of my living room, and I had to pay to get those fixed.  I could have made you pay for it, but I’m a nice guy.  I’m not so sure Sharon’s dad would let you get away with that.”

“Who says I’m gonna fight anybody?” Clint said.  “Why didn’t you ask Banner to pay for that shit?  He’s the one who started it.”

“No, you started it—” Thor began to say, and then Steve showed up.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking at his friends, then noticing Bucky standing behind Clint.

“We were just asking these assholes to leave before they start another fight,” said Thor.  “I know Sharon didn’t invite them here.”

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving.”  Bucky tugged at Clint’s arm.

“Yasha?” Bucky heard.  He wanted to close his eyes and open them to find himself someplace else.  This had been the absolute worst idea ever.

“Great,” muttered Tony.

“Sorry,” said Steve, stepping into the middle.  “I invited Bucky.  I didn’t realize he’d be bringing Barton along.”

For a moment, what Steve said didn’t quite sink in.  Steve invited me? Bucky thought, then understood.  Steve was lying, so Bucky wouldn’t get kicked out of the party.  Elation passed through him, made him feel light as air.

“You invited him?” Thor repeated, jerking his thumb at Bucky. 

“Yeah.”  Steve looked levelly at Thor.  “He’s my friend.”

Bucky floated along on a wave of happiness, barely registering when Natasha pushed her way through the wall of jock and grabbed Clint.  “We must talk, Clintbarton,” she snapped, and hauled him into the house. 

“Ooh, she’s pissed,” said someone Bucky couldn’t see.

This left Bucky standing behind Steve, facing a now confused Thor and Tony.

“Okay,” said Tony.  He turned and picked up a half-empty red Solo cup.

“Okay?” Steve asked Thor.

Bucky didn’t know what was going on between Steve and Thor.  He was too happy to care.  This was even better than he’d hoped for.  Even better than the Halloween party. 

“Okay.  You want a drink?” Thor asked.

Steve nudged Bucky, and suddenly Bucky realized Thor had been talking to him.  “Oh.  Yeah, sure.”  Thor was getting him a drink?  What the hell was going on?

As the three of them headed into the kitchen, Steve pressed his hand into Bucky’s back and guided Bucky in front of him.  Steve’s breath tickled his ear.  “Hi,” he said.

Bucky couldn’t stop smiling.

***

Neither could Clint.  He came out of the woodwork about an hour later, his hair mussed up, and told Bucky they should probably leave.  Bucky didn't ask any questions.  He hadn't minded standing around the kitchen with his elbow touching Steve's while watching other people play beer pong and talking to Sam Wilson, who was excited about Bucky attempting soccer.  "Give me a call," Sam told him.  "For real, we can kick the ball around."  But he knew he wasn't going to be making out with Steve tonight.  Still, he felt like they had made some progress.

Bucky had to steer Clint along the sidewalks.  "Did you and Natasha just make out, or were you smoking?" he asked.

"Both," said Clint.

He was all ready to drop Clint off at his house, but then Clint wanted him to go out to the trailer.  "Come on," Clint said, tugging on Bucky's empty sleeve.  Using it like a leash, Clint led him back to the camper and shoved Bucky inside, then stood in the doorway.

"Dude."  Clint looked like he was about to lay down a speech, so Bucky sat down and waited.  And waited.

"You gonna say something?"

"Yeah, hold on.  I just forgot what it was for a second.  Dude.  Okay.  So, like, aside from that being about the best night ever," Clint began, "what's up with you and Steve?"

"What do you mean?" Bucky asked.

"Like," Clint made his face look stoic and serious, " _He's my friend_.  Yeah?  You guys are 'just friends'?"

Bucky frowned.  "I told you, he's not out to his friends yet."

"Come on, man.  You've been with him for like three weeks.  How long you gonna be his little secret?"

"It's not like that," Bucky said. 

"It isn't?  What's it like, then?"

Bucky clenched his teeth together and glared at Clint. 

"Whoa, dude."  Clint held up his hands.  "Come on.  I'm your friend too.  Just like Steve, apparently."

"What, you finally kiss the girl you've had a crush on for like three years and now you're the expert on relationships?" Bucky snapped, standing up.  "Fuck you."

"Good.  I'm glad you're pissed about it.  I would be too, if the person I was dating didn't even sit with me at lunch."

"Nat doesn't always sit with us!" Bucky yelled.

"I'm just saying you deserve someone who at least fucking acknowledges you," said Clint.

"You're one to talk!  I notice Natasha didn't exactly kiss you in front of everyone."

"Obviously, dude!  She doesn't want Bruce to freaking punch me again.  She cares about me, okay?"  Clint just looked at him for a minute.  "Look, I'm not saying Steve doesn't care about you, or whatever."

"I'm going home," said Bucky, trying to shoulder past Clint. 

Clint, however, shoved him back.  "Don't leave pissed, dude.  Come on.  Bro code.  Ho's before bros... wait, reverse that..."

"Fuck the bro code!" Bucky growled.  But some of his anger had died down.  Clint was basically calling both Steve and Natasha "ho's," which was kind of funny.  He flopped down on the couch and jiggled his leg.  Clint sat down on the other end of the couch.  "He's just going through a lot of stuff right now," Bucky said finally.  "His mom just died."

"What does his mom have to do with you?" Clint asked. 

_Nothing_ , Bucky thought.  He didn't want to say it.  He didn't want Clint to be right about Steve.  "He has a lot going on," Bucky repeated.  "He has to come out to his friends.  And then he'll tell them we're dating."

"You didn't even have to 'come out'," said Clint.  "Everybody just knew you were gay."

"Well, pretty much no one knows Steve is gay.  Think about it, all those football players finding out Steve's gay?"

"Isn't Teddy Altman on the football team?"

Bucky sighed.  "It's different for Steve."

"How?"

"I don't know, it just is!"  Bucky stood up again.  "He said he just needed some time."

"So you're just gonna wait for him?"

It sounded so cliché.  Bucky had heard of stories like this, mostly from online friends, the secret relationship, the promise that they would come out, and then it all ends before that ever happens.  In one of Bucky's favorite books, too, now that he was thinking about it - _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_.  Maybe he'd have to read that again.  

But Bucky knew Steve wasn't a liar, despite the fact that Steve had lied tonight.  Steve had lied to protect _him_.  Steve would keep his word.  "Yeah.  I'm gonna wait."


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made [yet another playlist](http://8tracks.com/spoffyumi/waiting-room)... all sad angsty songs to get you in the mood for reading...

After Sharon's party, things seemed easier.  Now that everyone knew Bucky was Steve's friend, Steve didn't feel so weird about talking to Bucky between classes.  And who cared if he talked to Bucky between classes?

It was strange: even though Steve thought about his mother a lot, and missed her, there was a huge sense of relief in her passing.  He hadn’t realized how much her suffering had bothered him.  Moreover, he had worried that somehow his actions would reflect poorly on her.

When he had been younger, he’d been what one teacher described in a note home as “confrontational.” Basically, he got into a lot of fights at school.  He didn’t like bullies, and stuck up for kids who got picked on.  Sometimes that meant Steve got into fistfights. His mom didn’t like violence, period.  And it wasn’t until she got sick that Steve didn’t want to disappoint her.  He decided he’d be the perfect son.  He focused on his grades, and having the perfect balance of extracurricular activities.  And not fighting.  Even though he still spoke up if he noticed someone being a bully.

Steve couldn’t believe it had been Sharon of all people who had reminded him of who he was. 

There was no reason why Steve couldn’t be nice to Bucky at school.  Why he couldn’t call Bucky his friend.  The thought of the words, “I’m gay,” coming out of his mouth still scared him, but he didn’t have to treat Bucky like he didn’t know him.  He was going to ask Bucky to the winter formal.  He had a deadline now, and he just had to figure out how he was going to tell his friends.

“Whatcha doin’?” Scott asked behind him, and Steve’s spine snapped straight up.  He slammed his laptop closed.

“Nothing.”

“No?” Scott sat down beside Steve on the couch, where Steve had stupidly decided to go online (yes, the group home had wifi.  He’d only had to ask for the password) and look up other people came out to their friends. “You’re not lookin’ at porn?”

“No!” Nervously, Steve glanced at the staff office, where Hope was doing paperwork.

Scott laughed.  “Come on, man.  We all do it.  Let me see what you’re looking at.”

“It’s not porn,” Steve insisted. 

“Dude, if you didn’t want anyone to see what you were looking at online, you shoulda brung your laptop in your room.”

After two weeks, Steve was starting to get a little sick of the way Scott, Luis, and Dave seemed to run the whole house.  “I can go on my computer wherever I want,” he said.

“If you’re in the common room,” Scott started to say, but Steve cut him off.

“I still have the right to some personal space, even if I’m in the common room.”

“Oh, it’s called personal space when you wanna jerk off to gay porn?” Scott said, pretending to look innocent.

“Who’s looking at gay porn?” asked Luis, entering the room with a plastic bag from the convenience store down the street.  The boys were allowed to go there and get snacks if they had their own money and told the staff first.  Scott was on restriction, but Luis reached into the bag and handed him a Red Bull and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. 

“Nobody better be looking at porn!” Hope called from the office.

“Steve,” Scott told Luis.

Steve had had enough.  He stood up and tucked his laptop under his arm.

“Oh, where you goin’?” Scott asked sweetly.  “Gonna call your boyfriend and cry?”

“Those guys are idiots,” Pete said, when Steve walked into their room and sat heavily down on the bed.

Pete was still wearing his headphones.  “You heard?” Steve asked. 

He pointed at the floor.  “Grate,” he said.  “I can hear everything.  All the time.”

“Oh.”

“They call me gay all the time, too.”  Pete shrugged and returned to looking through his magazine.  “Whatever.”

And there it was: a perfect moment.  Steve wondered briefly how many perfect moments he had let slip by, worrying about what other people would think.  “I am gay,” he said.

Pete just looked at him.

“Sorry.  I guess I should have told you sooner?” Steve said.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Pete said.  “I just wasn’t sure if you were kidding or not.  Okay.”

“I have a boyfriend,” Steve added.  He wasn’t sure why.

“Oh, that kid you visit all the time?”

Steve was happy Pete hadn’t said, _That kid with one arm_.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Bucky.”

***

Thanksgiving came and went and Bucky was almost glad Steve hadn’t been there.  His dad’s parents – his Grammy and Poppa - had driven down from Maine to visit, and his other grandparents – Gramps and Gram - were there as well, and his aunt and uncle and their brats, so it was a full house and he did his best to help his mom.  That involved a lot of cleaning, and if Steve had been there, it wouldn’t have been much fun anyway.  Plus Grammy and Poppa were Republicans and did not approve of Bucky being gay.  Bucky’s mom had become something of an expert at avoiding all political topics. 

“Go change into something nice,” she told Bucky before everyone showed up.  He looked down at his black hoodie and jeans.  There weren’t any stains on them.  “Go,” she repeated, and he headed up to his room to discover exactly what she meant by something nice.  She had laid out what she wanted him to wear: khakis, a white button-down shirt, and a blue sweater. 

There was a reason he didn’t wear button-down shirts.  He had to button all those fucking buttons with one hand.  Also, he looked like an altar boy.  Ugh.  Good thing Steve wasn’t here.

“Why do I have to wear this,” he complained when she came to check on his progress.

She straightened his collar and tugged at the sweater and the sleeves until it hung correctly.  “Grammy and Poppa don’t want to see you looking like a delinquent,” she said.

Bucky took the empty sleeve from her hand and tucked it into his pocket.  “Like it matters,” he grumbled. “I look like a nerd.”

“Honey, how do you think I’m going to pay for you to go to college?” she sighed.  “Your father’s life insurance barely covered your hospital bills.”

So that’s what this was.  He listened to his mom brag about his grades all day and was again thankful that Steve wasn’t here.  He regretted asking his mom if they could be Steve’s foster family.  If she could barely afford to send Bucky to college, she definitely couldn’t send both of them.  It wouldn’t be fair to his mom or to Steve, Bucky realized. 

It didn’t mean that Bucky didn’t miss Steve.  He saw Steve at school.  And the following weekend.

But not every weekend, it turned out.  Steve had other friends who wanted time with him. 

The weekends they did share together, however, had become something Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about during the days in between.  The nights when it was just the two of them made him realize how empty his bed was.  Once, when his mom went out with a few friends from work, Steve and Bucky turned the couch into a pillow fort, and spent the whole night under a canopy of blankets and cushions making out. 

Steve never pressed him to go further than making out.  Bucky would have liked to do more, but he was hyperaware of how closeted Steve was.  Steve never wanted to go out with Bucky, not even to a movie.  The most public they’d been was a Saturday closer to Christmas, when Bucky convinced Steve to go to the mall with him.  “I need to buy some presents,” he told Steve as they left the group home. 

“Okay,” Steve had said, but he hadn’t seemed excited about it.

“It’ll just be for a couple of hours,” Bucky said. 

Mrs. Barnes found a parking space about a mile from the mall entrance.  When they entered the chaotic crowd of shoppers, they parted ways.  “Meet here at five,” she told them.

Steve followed Bucky into Bath & Body Works.  Bucky didn’t say he was getting a gift for his mother.  He was sure Steve’s mood had something to do with this being his first Christmas without his mom.  Quickly he found the lotion she liked and paid for them. 

“What do you want for Christmas?” Bucky asked, nudging Steve with his elbow.

Steve shrugged.  He had his hands jammed in his pockets and was looking around at the holiday decorations.

“No?  No ideas?  Like…” Bucky gazed into the store windows for ideas.  “A book?  An extra phone charger?  A scarf?”  All these ideas sounded stupid even as he said them.  Steve didn’t look interested, either.  “How about some sexy underwear?” Bucky said as they passed Victoria’s Secret.

“Can we split up for a bit?” Steve said suddenly, stopping.  A woman pushing a double stroller had to swerve around them.  “I have some presents to buy too.”

“O-okay.”  Bucky felt his face burning.  Shit, had his suggestion been that bad?  “Yeah,” he mumbled.  “Just remember we have to meet back by the food court at five.”

“Sure.  See you then.”  Steve started to walk away.  Bucky pulled out his phone to look at the time.  Three o’clock.  Two hours at the mall by himself?  Ugh.

Then, across the open atrium, on the other side of the mall, he saw Thor and Bruce walking with a skinny, dark-haired kid who Bucky knew was Thor’s younger brother.  Of course, that was why Steve had bolted.  He hadn’t wanted to be seen with Bucky.  Fine.  Bucky stormed into the GAP and glared at the store employee who greeted him. 

Why was he even bothering to buy something for Steve?  It was just like Clint said.  He was Steve’s secret boyfriend and Steve was never going to come out of the closet and acknowledge him in public.  He pushed his hand through a pile of cable-knit scarves.  The blue one would look really nice on Steve, and it was soft Merino wool.  Bucky sighed and left the store without buying anything. 

Standing against the railing, he looked down at the first floor, where families were lined up for photos with Santa.  GameStop was down there, and he saw his mom’s familiar belted jacket at the counter.  In the other direction, he saw Steve’s friends looking at the hoverboards at one of the kiosk booths in the middle of the mall.  They must have just gone down the escalator. 

He had figured Steve was heading straight for his other friends, but the only blond head was Thor’s.  Bucky stood there watching them for a while, until he was sure that Steve wasn’t ditching him to hang out with his other friends.  Then he wandered through the mall.

He stopped in Spencer’s and found a suitably stupid gag gift for Clint.  The store had nothing that made Bucky think of Steve.  He moved on.

What would Steve even like?  Bucky knew Steve’s interests, sure.  Football.  Drawing.  School.  God, he barely knew Steve at all. 

In his head he made a more specific list.  Steve liked pepperoni pizza, and _Brokeback Mountain_ , and the color blue.  Steve liked full-body hugs and when Bucky kissed his neck.  It was a nice list, but not one that translated into gift ideas.

Bucky passed the music store.  He didn’t know what kind of music Steve liked, or if he even liked music.

Maybe there was something Steve needed, now that he lived at the group home.  Bucky was sure they would provide Steve with the basics: food, clothing, stuff like toothpaste and shampoo.  He sighed.  Steve didn’t even use hair gel or anything. 

Cologne!  Bucky doubled back and went into Macy’s.  There was a whole counter of men’s cologne.  He started sniffing.

“Looking for anything special?” asked a saleslady, who had her hair teased up into a tall pouf. 

“Nope, just looking,” he said quickly.  He put down the tester and picked up another one.  Ugh. 

“That particular musk is very popular.”  The saleslady was still watching him.  Her nametag said _Kendall_.  “You might get a better sense of it if you spray it on this paper strip here.”  Kendall took a white piece of paper from the center of the display and spritzed it with the cologne.  “There.”

“Thanks.” Bucky held it to his nose, unsure of why he was entertaining this woman.  She was probably only taking an interest in him because she was afraid he’d steal some super-expensive cologne or something.

“What do you think?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t like that one?  What kind of scent are you looking for?”

“Uh…”

“Is this for you, or for your dad?”

Bucky felt his whole body drain of color. 

One year he _had_ gotten cologne for his dad.  Old Spice.  Yeah, pretty generic but he always wore it and Bucky liked the smell of it. 

He backed away from Kendall and the cologne counter.  Through blurring eyes he spotted the Old Spice display.

“Are you alright, young man?”

“I have to go,” he said.  Whirling around, he slammed into an older man with a cane.  In horror, he watched as the man wobbled dangerously on his feet.  The woman at his side, probably his wife, steadied him.  “Sorry,” he blurted out and hurried off.

Not fast enough to escape hearing them call him a “little punk.”

He gulped for air outside the store.  Clean air, no scent of cologne. 

***

Steve had doubled back to Bath & Body Works.  He didn’t have much money, maybe thirty dollars, but Mrs. Barnes deserved something for everything she’d done for him.  He should have told Bucky he was going to buy something for her.  Maybe Bucky would have had some ideas.  Instead Steve just found the scent she liked – or, he assumed she liked, since it was the scent Bucky had gotten.  He had planned to buy a candle, but the candles were almost sixteen dollars.  He couldn’t spend more than half his money on Mrs. Barnes.  He still had to buy a gift for Bucky.  And Sharon, and Thor. 

He settled on some hand soap, that was only six dollars, and picked up a small bottle of lotion for Sharon, and moved on.  He didn’t see Bucky anywhere.  That was good.  He wanted whatever it was to be a surprise.

In the sporting goods store, Steve looked over a selection of soccer balls.  Would that be weird, giving him a soccer ball like they were just pals?  Also, it would be really hard to keep a secret.  And maybe it would make Bucky upset.  They had played soccer in the backyard after the whole gym class incident, so probably not.  But Bucky also had a soccer ball already.

Okay.  He needed another idea.  He bought a pair of lifting gloves for Thor, who was always complaining about the calluses on his hands.  Three down.  Just Bucky left.

He wished he had enough money for a leather jacket or something awesome like that.  He liked Bucky’s leather jacket.  Of course, Bucky already had one. 

Maybe a CD or something?  The thought of the eight dollars he had left in his pocket depressed him.  Just like the carols blasting over the PA system and the lights twinkling everywhere and the hordes of people rushing around carrying bags upon bags of stuff.  He thought about the sparse tree that they had put up at the group home.  They had waited until he’d returned Sunday night to put it up.  That had been sort of nice, that they had waited for him.  Even though it just made him think of all the years when he and his mom would decorate their own tree. 

The decorations for the tree were all weird.  Leigh had brought out a box and handed each of the boys a little tissue-wrapped item.  Every kid got their own ornament every year, apparently.  Steve’s was shaped like a football.  Pete got one that had been made out of an old cassette tape.  “Sacrilege!” he announced, but he was laughing.  Steve spotted Pete’s other ornaments on the tree: all of them were music-related.   He remembered Pete saying his mom had died when he was twelve and it sunk in that Pete might have been living here for four or five years without ever having found a foster family.  He felt stupid for hoping to find a foster family right away.

He knew Mrs. Barnes had requested Steve for a visit over Christmas.  Was she planning to buy him gifts?  How many?  Even one gift would probably cost a whole lot more than the little thing of soap he’d bought for her. 

Sitting down on a bench, he had to take some deep breaths. 

***

Eventually, it passed.  Bucky hurried on, trying to stay out of the way of the other shoppers.  Geez, he’d almost run down some old man. 

He found his way back to the GAP.  It looked like this was where Steve bought all his clothes, anyway, and Bucky kept thinking about that scarf and how it would look with Steve’s blue eyes. 

***

Steve was walking past Hot Topic when inspiration struck.

When Bucky had paid for his mom’s gift, he’d had some old Velcro wallet.  Steve knew he couldn’t afford much of anything, but he had thought maybe he could afford something. Nope.  The cheapest wallet, which Steve didn’t think Bucky would even like, was ten dollars.

He wandered into the bookstore.  Bucky liked to read.  Steve didn’t exactly have a favorite book he could give to Bucky, although a few titles looked promising.  None were priced even close to eight dollars.

A few more stores, and Steve checked his phone for the time.  He had to call it quits.  He headed toward Macy’s with his head down.

“Hey!  Rogers!”

“Bruce?” Steve said faintly.  It was Bruce, with Thor and his little brother Loki.  The kid’s name was something normal, like Tom, but everyone always called him Loki.  “Hey, guys.”

“They let you out?” Bruce asked.

“It’s not a prison,” Steve said.  He realized he was evading the question.  “I’m staying at Bucky’s this weekend.  He’s around here somewhere.  We’re Christmas shopping.”

“Anything for me?” Thor said. 

Steve smiled a little and hid the bag from the sporting goods store behind his leg.  “Maybe.”

Thor grinned and slapped Steve on the shoulder.  “Next weekend you’re staying with me.  No parties though.  Mom already told me we’re stuck baby-sitting this one.”

“I don’t need a stupid baby-sitter,” said Loki.  “I’m thirteen.”

“Sure,” said Thor, tussling Loki’s hair and ignoring the kid’s scowl.

“That’s fine,” said Steve. 

“Maybe me and a couple of the guys can come over,” said Bruce.  “We can watch a movie or something.”

Loki glared at Bruce suspiciously.  “That sounds like a party.”

“Nah, just some friends,” said Thor. 

“Okay, well, I have to go meet up with Bucky and his mom,” Steve said.

“No you don’t,” Bruce said.

Steve followed Bruce’s gaze over his shoulder.  Bucky was heading right toward them.

“Oh, yeah.  See you guys.”  He started toward Bucky, who he now saw didn’t look very happy.

“Oh, no, don’t let me disturb you!” Bucky walked right past Steve, to where Bruce, Thor, and Loki were still standing.  “Oh, hey, guys.  We all just hanging out?  Is that what’s going on?”

“Bucky,” Steve said.

“Come on.  We’re all friends now, right?  Why don’t we all just hang out?”

Steve didn’t know what to say.  He stood there, frozen, in the middle of the mall, with all his friends staring at him.  His boyfriend staring at him.

“We just bumped into Steve a couple minutes ago,” Thor offered up, when Steve said nothing. 

“Sure,” said Bucky.  “Right.  Sure.”

“I was just coming to meet you,” Steve said finally. 

“Yeah, okay,” said Bucky.

“Because it’s almost five.”

“Right, uh-huh.  Sure,” said Bucky.

“What’s his problem?” Loki whispered.

“What’s my problem?” Bucky repeated, loudly.  “Yeah, I guess my problem is that my friend here doesn’t want to be seen with me in public.  Yeah.  That’s all.  No big deal.”

“No wonder,” said Bruce.

Steve stepped forward as Bucky whirled to unleash his fury on Bruce.  “Bucky, let’s go.”

“Yeah, no wonder!” Bucky called out, even as Steve muscled him away.  “Fuck you, Bruce Banner!”

At that point, they were far enough away that Bucky knew it was a lost cause trying to pick a fight with Bruce, and he turned and jerked his arm, with several shopping bags still looped over the wrist, out of Steve’s grasp.  “Let go of me!”

“Bucky, come on.  That’s not what happened.”

“No?  You didn’t see your friends and ditch me so they wouldn’t see us together?  Huh?”

“No!” Steve said.  He grabbed Bucky again, only because Bucky was plowing through the crowd and was going to end up hurting someone.  “Bucky, no.  I just wanted to get you a present.  I didn’t see them until later.”

Bucky still didn’t look at him.  But he did slow down.  They walked the rest of the way to Macy’s with Steve holding Bucky’s wrist loosely.  He felt people watching them.  Most of them totally ignored the two boys.  He met the gaze of anyone whose eyes dropped to notice the how close they were walking.  _Yeah, I’m gay.  So what?_ he silently dared them.  Their eyes slid on by. 

Mrs. Barnes wasn’t outside of Macy’s just yet, so Steve steered them toward the railing to wait.  He kept his hand on Bucky’s wrist.  Lowered it and stroked at Bucky’s fist with his thumb.

“You promise?” Bucky whispered.  He had his head tucked down, his chin nearly on his chest.  “You didn’t ditch me to hang out with them?”

“I promise,” Steve said.

***

Later that night, in bed, Bucky just wanted to curl in up Steve’s arms.  Steve was running his fingers through Bucky’s hair and sometimes kissing his forehead.  “Why do you even like me,” Bucky mumbled, because as much as he liked Steve’s comfort, he didn’t feel like he deserved it.

“Because you’re not afraid to say exactly how you feel,” Steve said. 

“So?  That’s not a reason to like someone.”

“I think it is.”

“It’s not.”

“What’s a good reason then?”

All this time, Steve kept combing his fingers along Bucky’s scalp.

“I don’t know, like, you think I’m really attractive.  Or I’m a good person.”

Steve’s lips smiled against Bucky’s forehead.  “I think both those things.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Bucky tried not cry.  “But I’m not.”

“Says who?”

“I’m not a good person, Steve.”  Bucky couldn’t take it anymore.  He rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.  His breathing sounded so loud in this new cocoon.

“You can’t tell me what I think.”  Even hearing Steve’s disembodied voice, Bucky could imagine the set of Steve’s jaw.  “I think you’re a good person.  You just like to hide it.”

“I’m mean.  That’s why I don’t have any friends.  I’m mean.”

Gently Steve’s hand slid up under the covers and touched Bucky’s bare back.  He shivered.

“You know I’m right.”

“Sometimes you lash out at people,” Steve conceded.  “That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

“It doesn’t make me a good person, either.”

“Not all good people are nice to everybody.”

“You are.”

Steve sighed. 

“You _are_.”

The hot, dry surface of Steve’s palm circled Bucky’s back.  Bucky held his breath, waiting for Steve to respond.

“I wish I wasn’t so nice.”

Now Bucky had to roll over again.  “Why?”

“I used to… stand up for what I believed in.  I used to step in if I saw someone getting bullied.”

Remembering that day in the locker room, when Steve had barely corrected Thor on calling him a freak, Bucky couldn’t exactly disagree.  “What changed?” he asked.

“I… I wanted my mom to be proud of me.”  Steve’s voice cracked.  “She hated when I got into fights at school.  But now… I think maybe… she would have rather I stood up for things rather than be nice.”

“Your mom would be proud of you either way,” Bucky said.

Steve continued like Bucky hadn’t said anything.  “And now I think I’ve lost my nerve.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky held his breath.

“I don’t know how to even begin telling my other friends about you.  Like, I can’t imagine having that conversation with them.”  In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, they looked at each other.  “How did you tell your friends?”

“It was a long time ago,” Bucky said.  He closed his eyes, it was hard to concentrate on talking when he and Steve made eye contact.  “I mean, I pretty much always knew.  My sis… Um, my sister’s favorite movie was _The Little Mermaid_ and we both had a crush on Prince Eric.”

Steve smiled and let out a little, quiet laugh.  “He is rather dreamy.”

“Yeah.  And my parents were pretty cool with it.  I remember when I was nine or ten, my Gramps started in on my dad about ‘raising a little fairy.’  My dad was like, He plays sports.  He does well in school.  He’s a good kid.  Who cares if he’s gay?  Of course my Gramps wasn’t a fan of that but I remember hearing my dad say all that, and so it never really bothered me when kids at school said stuff like ‘you’re so gay.’  I mean,” Bucky swallowed, “there was a bad patch in middle school.  Mostly because I told Simon Williams – you remember him?  I think he went to some private high school.  Anyway, I told him I thought he was hot.  And he wasn’t gay, so he told everybody.”

“I guess that’s one way to do it.” 

From the hopeless light in Steve’s eyes, Bucky knew he’d just described Steve’s worst fear.  “It wasn’t that bad, I guess,” Bucky said.  “All my friends already knew.  There were a bunch of kids who called me names.  Fuckbutty, shit like that.”  Bruce Banner had come up with that one.  “I don’t know, eventually people got bored or whatever.”

“But you didn’t have to tell your friends?”

“No.”

Steve considered this.  “Because you always knew.  You never pretended you weren’t gay.”

Snuggling closer, Bucky said, “Sharon knows about us.  She’s okay with it.  She thought it made sense.  Remember?  If your friends are really your friends, then they’ll be okay with it too.”  Bucky winced.  “If I didn’t fuck all that up for you earlier.”

Pulling Bucky’s head to his chest, Steve sighed.  “I wish all this was easier.”


	33. Chapter 33

"Today I'd like to talk about your assignment," started Dr. Hill, even before Bucky had sat down.

"What assignment?" Bucky asked.  "The soccer thing?"  They'd already talked about his terrible gym class experience last week.  While she had encouraged him to participate in class again, they hadn't set a firm goal.

Dr. Hill held up a typed piece of paper with some red writing on it that looked familiar.  "Your eulogy."

"Oh."  He sank into the chair and slouched down.

"It's been about six weeks since we started our sessions.  The school would like a progress report at eight weeks.  At that point, I'll have to state whether or not I think you should continue in therapy."

Bucky didn't say anything. 

"What do you think?" Dr. Hill said, setting the paper aside and looking at him.  "Do you think you're ready to talk about this today?"

He shrugged, picking at a spot on his jeans.  "I guess."

"I'd like for you to read it to me."

She held the paper out.  It floated in the air in front of him, and he didn't move right away to take it from her.  Her arm would get tired, he thought.  She wasn’t going to hold it out there forever.

He took it from her and looked at it.

The red writing across the top of the page had been something he'd only glimpsed briefly in the principal's office.

_Please see me after class_ , Mr. Dugan had written, but there was no punctuation dotting the instruction.  Like Mr. Dugan had thought he might wait until a day or two from now to speak with Bucky, then decided that he had to hand the paper over to the school administration without talking to Bucky first.

Mr. Dugan had probably talked to _Steve_ after class.

He'd almost forgotten what he'd written, and now, looking over the first paragraph, he felt his face burn.  Why had he been so stupid?

"I'd like you to read it out loud," Dr. Hill said quietly.

"This is stupid," he said.  His leg started jiggling.  "I was just being stupid when I wrote this."

"I'd still like to talk about it."

He sighed and looked at it again.  After a few minutes of saying nothing, he sighed again and started reading in a flat voice.

"Today we gather to mourn the passing of James Buchanan Barnes.  Not many will grieve for him.  Some might say his death was justified.  There is not even anyone here willing to speak for him.  His mother has asked for me to give a brief eulogy.

“Last Tuesday, James made the decision to end the lives of several of his classmates.  He brought weapons into a school building and executed three members of the football team before turning the gun on himself. 

“If James had only committed suicide, this might be a different sort of eulogy.  As a child he was active and enjoyed playing soccer and baseball, making the junior varsity soccer team in high school.  He excelled in all of his subjects, especially math and science.  In his eighth grade yearbook, James stated that he hoped to become a doctor. 

“Two years ago, a car accident took his father and sister and left him an amputee.  One might say that was the beginning of the end.  Though he managed to stay on top of his schoolwork throughout his long recovery, James never returned to his former self. 

“The only reason I even agreed to give this eulogy was because I do not think James was the scapegoat this community wants him to be.  It is clear to me that James had been dealt a bad hand--”

Bucky stopped there and sneered, “Har har.”  When Dr. Hill didn’t laugh, he sighed and kept reading.

“-- and on top of that, his classmates were less than understanding.  No bullying incidents were officially reported, which is simply an excuse on the part of the school administration to absolve itself of blame.  In the aftermath of this unfortunate tragedy, many students have revealed to reporters of the ways the victims of James’ killing spree had instigated this incident.

“So I am using this opportunity to speak out against bullying in all its forms, whether it is physical threats, cruel remarks, or cyberbullying.  Do not confuse this school shooting with political issues of gun control.  When we remember James Buchanan Barnes, we must remember to be kind to each other.”

Dr. Hill didn’t say anything immediately after Bucky finished.  He wanted to rip the stupid paper into little fucking pieces.  But he couldn’t, unless he used his teeth.  He settled for slowing squeezing his fist until the paper began to crumple into a ball. 

“I read your paper before we had our first session,” said Dr. Hill finally. 

He glared at her and blinked.  “Then why the fuck did you just make me read it to you?”

“Because I wanted you to feel the weight of your words,” she said.  “There are quite a few things about this that I find interesting.”

“Enlighten me,” he snapped.

“My first impression fit with Principal Coulson’s decision not to expel you.  This is very clearly not a threat, but a cry for help.”

His face reddened, and he felt his throat constrict. 

“There are also many things that indicate to me that you were a person who was deeply depressed, who felt under attack, and yet… in the end...”

Bucky looked down at the crumpled sheet, re-read the final words. 

“In the end, you – in the guise of this unnamed person who had stood up to give a eulogy for a known killer – makes a plea for kindness.  And that told me there was hope still left for you.”

***

Steve didn’t have to talk to Dr. Fury about his eulogy.  He’d already lived his eulogy.

Dr. Fury did want to talk about whether or not Steve wanted to continue therapy.  “I’m contracted through the school system for eight weeks.  At that time, I turn over my assessment.  Whether or not I deem that further counseling is needed, you can decide to continue.  Or not continue.”

Looking out the window, Steve thought about Bucky, who probably wasn’t getting this same choice. 

“The eight-week goal was very simple, and that was to help you deal with your mother’s terminal diagnosis.  Since she passed, the new goal was to help you deal with your grief, as well as your transition to the group home.”

“And now those goals are done,” said Steve.

“We’ve only accomplished those goals if _you_ think we’ve accomplished them.  People can spend years dealing with the grief from a parent’s death.  I’m sure there will be many issues involved in group home life that might make you wish you had an impartial party to talk to.”  Dr. Fury looked at him with that serious gaze he so often wore.  “However, you have a support system in place.  You can contact your social worker, and the group home is fully staffed twenty-four hours a day if you need someone to talk to.”

Steve thought about that.  He could barely imagine talking to some of the staff.  Most of them he didn’t really know, and some of them, like Leigh, he didn’t like very much.  And Allison wasn’t exactly easy to reach on the phone.

“It also seems like your friends have been very supportive.”

They had talked about this in their sessions, about Sharon and Bucky mostly, but also how Thor and Bruce and Tony were all making an effort, now that they knew what was going on in Steve’s life.

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking at his hands.

“I can make my recommendation that you do not have an urgent need for further therapy, but I want you to know that continuing in therapy isn’t going to change that opinion.  Lots of people go to therapy.  You don’t have to be in crisis to need or want therapy.  It doesn’t mean that you’re weak, or that something’s wrong with you.”

Dr. Fury stopped there.  After a moment, Steve said, “Okay.”

“Would you like some time to think about it?” Dr. Fury asked.

Steve tried to imagine not coming back here ever again.  He imagined himself walking off, alone, and never feeling like he could be honest about anything ever again.

“No, I don’t need to think about it.  I want to keep coming here,” Steve said.

***

Steve lingered in the waiting room, even though he knew Darren was downstairs in the van.  There were only so many times he could pretend to tie his shoe and button his coat, and he was about to give up and leave when Bucky emerged from Dr. Hill's office, wiping his eyes.  Steve immediately crossed the room and hugged Bucky to his chest.  “You okay?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded, and didn't say anything, and that was when Steve knew it had been bad. 

“You want to sit up here for a while?”

Bucky shook his head.  He squeezed Steve, then pushed away.  For a second, Steve thought maybe Bucky was mad.  Then Bucky took his hand and pulled him out of the waiting room and into the hallway.

“We don’t have to rush,” Steve said.  “I know Darren’s waiting but he can wait a few more—”

He had to stop talking, because Bucky was shoving him up against the wall and then Bucky's tongue was in his mouth.  Surprised, he smiled and laughed a little as Bucky kissed him.  "Oh," he managed to say at some point, when Bucky decided to come up for air.

They looked at each other.  Bucky's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, but he didn't look sad.  Not anymore.

Steve glanced down the hallway toward the elevator, then in the other direction.  He didn't know what other kinds of offices were in this building, but they didn't seem very busy.  Coming to back to Bucky, he tilted his head forward and kissed Bucky nice and slow. 

Even though they had just spent an entire weekend together, this felt different.  A little exposed, even though they were alone.  Was this how it would feel to kiss Bucky in public, where anyone could see them?  Probably not.  He felt hyper-aware of the sounds around them. 

But _Bucky_.

His brain told him this was just teenage infatuation.  The first guy he'd ever kissed.  It wasn't love; they had only been dating for a few weeks.  And yet he clutched Bucky against him and his mouth was so _hot_ and Bucky's hand scraped up through his hair and when he pulled Bucky closer so he could feel exactly what this was doing to him, Bucky made a little sound in the back of his throat.  There was something desperate about it.  Steve half-remembered that Bucky had just been crying and he wanted to find out what was wrong, but he didn't want to stop whatever this was.

A ding from the elevator at the end of the hall had them jumping away from each other. 

Steve wiped his mouth and yanked his shirt down, while Bucky half-hid behind Steve and tried to fix his hair. 

It was Darren.  Of course it was Darren, because Steve hadn't come right outside after his appointment was over. 

"I've been waiting for ten minutes," Darren said, having barely stepped out of the elevator.

"Sorry," Steve said at the same time that Bucky said, "It was my fault."  They looked at each other, both a little red-faced.

Darren lunged back at the elevator to stop the doors from closing.  "Okay, well, let's get a move on.  Luis is late for the dentist."

"Okay," said Steve.  He didn't want to leave.  He looked back at Bucky.

"Is there some kind of problem?" Darren asked.

"No."  He reached out and tugged at Bucky's sleeve, and they both walked to the elevator and got in.  "Come on." 

During the short ride down the elevator, he and Bucky kept peeking at each other and smiling.  Darren, texting on his phone, didn’t notice.  Just before they hit the ground floor, Steve reached out and took hold of Bucky’s hand. 

Bucky’s smile faded a bit as he gave Steve a wide-eyed look that stayed on his face as the elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby.

Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s face as they exited the building and came into view of the van.  He felt his own smile turn a bit grim.  All it took was one look at his boyfriend – and how just saying that word in his head felt so right – and he smiled again, because Bucky was smiling down at the ground.  All cute and shy with his messed-up hair that always somehow looked perfect.

“Dude, you gay or something?” Luis asked after Steve climbed into the van and shut the door. 

Outside, Bucky was unlocking his bike.  Still smiling.  When the van passed by him and he looked up, Steve gave him a little wave.  “Yup,” Steve said.


	34. Chapter 34

Steve waited for it to be a big deal.  Waited for it, hoped for it, even.  He found himself looking forward to some confrontation.

It never came.

He was sure Luis had told Scott and Dave that Steve was gay, because Luis couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.  Yet Tuesday night passed quietly, with some of the boys deciding to play poker while Steve did his homework at the kitchen table.  And Wednesday.  Thursday, too, only this Thursday Steve and Bucky walked out of the therapy office, looked at each other, and headed into the stairwell to frantically make out for a couple of minutes.  Steve grew brave and pulled Bucky against him with both hands grabbing his ass, which made Bucky do that little moan again.

"I wish you were coming to my house this weekend," Bucky sighed when Steve decided he'd better get downstairs before Darren came looking for him again. 

"Me, too," said Steve, giving Bucky's butt another squeeze.  Bucky laughed and grabbed Steve's butt.  More kissing, then Steve really had to go.

This weekend Steve would be staying at Thor's house.  He was happy to spend some time with his best friend.  There wouldn't be any pressure on him the way there was at Sharon's house or even Bucky's.  He'd stayed over Thor's house lots of times, usually after parties so his mom wouldn't know he'd been drinking.

That thought depressed him, since towards the end he'd been drinking a lot and knew his mom wouldn't hear him if he came home drunk.

He decided if he couldn’t be with Bucky this weekend, then he could do one productive thing: come out to Thor. 

He’d learned from the various websites he’d looked at was that it was easier to come out to one person alone than to a group.  It made sense.  If he came out to Thor, who was supposed to be his best friend, then Thor would back him up later when Steve came out to everyone else.

He would wait for the right moment, though.  Definitely not in Mrs. Odinson’s minivan with Loki sitting in the front seat.

“What will you be doing for Christmas, Steve?” she asked him.

“I’m staying with my friend Bucky,” he told her. 

“The whole Christmas break?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I think just for Christmas Eve and Christmas day.”

“You should stay over for a few days over vacation,” she said warmly.  “That’ll be fun, right, honey?”

“Yeah,” Thor said. 

“This other friend, he’s not on the football team?” Mrs. Odinson asked.

Loki choked on a laugh.

“No, Ma,” Thor said.

“And you’re very good friends?”  In the rearview mirror, Steve could read the confusion on her face.  She knew all of Thor’s friends.

“Yes,” said Steve.

Thor gave him a look.  Steve shrugged.

“All right.  You’re welcome to stay with us, you know that.  There’s always room at our house!”

Steve gave her a polite smile.

When they got to the house, Thor grabbed Steve’s overnight bag, and Steve followed him into the house carrying just his backpack.  “You boys hungry for lunch?” Mrs. Odinson asked as they tromped up the stairs.

Like she even needed to ask.

“I got the new Call of Duty,” said Thor, dropping Steve’s bag on the floor.  Thor had a 40-inch screen TV in his room with surround sound and both an Xbox and a Playstation.  It stared across the room at Thor’s giant bed.  Usually when Steve slept over, Steve slept on the floor in a sleeping bag he would bring from his own house.  But he obviously didn’t have a sleeping bag, and he didn’t see one in Thor’s room.

“Cool.”  Steve set down his backpack. 

“Did you bring your homework?” Thor asked, hurling himself onto his bed.  “Loser.  Let’s play first.”

“I just have some physics reading I have to get done.”  Steve sat down on the bed beside Thor.

They played until Mrs. Odinson called them down.  Now this was a woman who knew how to feed three teenage boys: turkey and ham and bacon sandwiches with tomatoes and pickles piled on thick bread slathered in mustard, and of course, chips and soda.  Bucky’s mom always managed to work bean sprouts into everything, and Sharon’s mom was clearly looking out for her own figure, if not that of her daughter’s.  “This is really good,” said Steve through a full mouth.

Thor grunted assent.

Mrs. Odinson headed upstairs to get ready for whenever Mr. Odinson returned home.  “Where’s your dad?” Steve asked.

“At work,” said Loki. 

“Where are they going tonight?”

Thor shrugged and popped his soda open, then drained the can in three swallows. 

“Who cares,” Loki answered.  His words were overshadowed by a giant belch from Thor.

Steve laughed while Loki glared. 

After lunch they went back to playing video games.  Thor had two headsets and they lost themselves in combat, thinking only about mission objectives.  “Can I play?” Loki asked from the doorway about an hour later.

“No, go away,” said Thor without even looking up.

“It’s okay,” said Steve.  “Here, play for me while I grab a soda.”

“Get one for me,” said Thor.  “Dr. Pepper.”

When he came back with the sodas, including a Coke for Loki, Loki reluctantly returned the headset.

“You can play for me for a while,” said Steve.  “I have some homework.”

“Come on, man!” Thor said, pausing the game.  “You’re seriously gonna do homework right now?”

“I’d rather not do it later, if everyone’s still coming over,” Steve said.

Thor didn’t say anything, but he did unpause the game, and he and his brother played on. 

Steve didn’t have that much reading, and he’d grown used to blocking out noise at the group home.  He sat up and shut his book.

“You ready to play again?” Thor asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

Another hour passed.  Mr. Odinson returned home, and Steve could smell Mrs. Odinson’s perfume as she bustled around.  Steve figured they were going to a holiday party, because she was wearing something that jingled when she walked.

“Do they have video games at that place?” Thor asked.

(“What place?” asked Loki.

“The place he lives, duh,” said Thor.)

“Yeah,” said Steve.

“Like what?  What games do they have?”

“I don’t know.  I never play there.”

“Probably old games.”

“I don’t know.”

“What about your friend Bucky?”

“What about him?”

“Can he even play video games?”

“Yeah,” said Steve.  His hands were sweating a little, and he wiped his palms on his jeans.  “He has a special controller.”

“They make one-handed controllers?  That’s cool.”

Steve felt himself sitting tensely even after they had all lapsed into silence again.  He’d thought the moment might have come.  Then again, would the “right moment” have involved Loki sitting there, playing some game on his phone?

As if reading Steve’s mind, Thor said, “Hey twerp, go get us more soda and the Pringles and I’ll let you play for a bit.” 

“I’m not your slave,” said Loki.

Thor paused the game and looked at his brother.

“Fine,” said Loki.  “But I want to play for at least twenty minutes.”

“You can play all night while we watch a movie downstairs,” Thor said.

“I wanna watch a movie too,” said Loki.

“You’re gonna be stuck up here all night if I say so.”

“Then I’m not getting your snacks.”  Loki returned to his phone.

“Fine. Twenty minutes,” huffed Thor.

Loki was out of the room like a shot.

Steve had been sitting there, gripping the controller, throughout this whole exchange.  He felt sick.  Was Thor going to ask him about Bucky?

Unpausing the game, Thor did no such thing. 

Steve was beginning to understand why he wanted the confrontation.  He didn’t want to just say it. 

After a few seconds of hesitation that felt like minutes, Steve took off his headset and said, “I’m gay.”

“What?” Thor asked.  He reached up to his earpiece, only to realize Steve hadn’t been throwing around the sorts of insults the online players often used.  He paused the game again and turned to Steve.  “What?”

A deep breath.  Eye contact.  “I’m gay,” he said.

Thor looked at him for a long time.  Until Loki returned with the snacks and sodas and said, “My turn!” and snatched up the headset.

Thor moved over on the bed, toward Steve, and Loki sat where Thor had been sitting. 

“So, like, when you were dating Sharon…” Thor mused.

Steve glanced at Loki.  “Yeah.”

"Huh," said Thor.  "I guess that makes sense."

"It does?"

"Yeah, you know.  Why you've been hanging around with Bucky Barnes."  Thor grinned at Steve.  "Yeah."

Steve let himself smile and relax a little.  "Okay.  Good.  Thanks."

"Hello, am I playing by myself?" Loki demanded.  "Come on, Steve."

"Sorry," said Steve, and put his headset back on. 

Thor thumped Steve on the back, then seemed about to make himself more comfortable, but Mr. Odinson called him from the hallway.  "Thor, your mother and I are heading out!"

"Okay!" Thor called back.

"That means get your ass down here!" 

Steve glanced at his friend.  Mr. Odinson was an intimidating man.  Thor sighed and got up.  "I'll be right back," he said, slapping Steve on the leg.

"Sure." 

Loki didn’t bat an eyelash, until his big brother was out of the room.  “What’s the big secret?” he asked.

“No secret,” said Steve.

Loki turned to look at him, despite the game still going.  “I will find out what it is,” he said.  “I collect secrets.”

Goosebumps rose up on Steve’s arms.

“All he wanted was to give me money for the pizza,” laughed Thor.  By the time he re-entered the room, Loki was back at the game like nothing had been said.  “You got fifteen more minutes, twerp.  What kinda pizza you guys want?”

“Hawaiian,” said Loki.

“Pepperoni,” said Steve.

Thor apparently had the pizza place’s number in his contacts, because the next thing Steve heard was the number dialing.  “I’d like three large pizzas please – a pepperoni, a meat lovers’ and a Hawaiian.”

It sounded like a lot of pizza, but somehow it disappeared when Bruce and Tony came over.  “This is exactly what I needed,” said Bruce as they flopped around on the couches and chairs downstairs.  “No girls.”

“Yeah, you got some problems, man,” said Tony.  “What’s even happening with Natasha?”

Bruce shrugged.  “She likes that deaf kid, I guess.”

“Clint Barton,” Steve supplied.

Bruce gave him a look.

“He’s friends with Bucky,” Steve said.  “He’s okay.”

“Somebody change the subject,” Tony hissed.

“You been hanging out with him?” Bruce asked. 

“With Bucky, yeah.  I only hung out with Clint once.  He was…” Steve wasn’t sure how much to say, but then, they probably all knew it.  “He was pretty high.”

“I don’t get it,” Bruce said, falling back into the couch cushions.  “Why would Nat dump me for a stoner?”

“Probably because you yell a lot.”  Thor shoved a slice of pizza in his mouth.

Instead of getting upset, Bruce just slumped even more somehow.  “I know.”

Steve caught a glimpse of Loki lurking around the corner.  “You want some more pizza?” Steve asked him.

“I told you to eat upstairs!” said Thor through a mostly full mouth.

“Let the kid stay,” Bruce said.  “Not like my anger management issues are a secret.”

Loki slid into the room, took another slice of his Hawaiian pizza, and perched at the end of the couch.  Thor moved over to make more room, which meant he was rubbing elbows with Steve.  It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but then Thor looked over at Steve and grinned and patted Steve’s leg.

And left his hand there.

***

Meanwhile, Bucky was dealing with some unwanted advances of his own.

“You have to come to the movies with me,” Clint said after Bucky had answered the phone.  “Please.  I need you.”

“Okay,” Bucky said.  “What movie?”

“Natasha wants to see that new horror movie.  The remake of that old movie, with the guy?”

“So… you want me to go see it with you before you take her, so you don’t embarrass yourself by screaming?”

“No!” Clint laughed.  “No, I want you to come with us.”

Bucky grimaced.  “You want me there as a third wheel?”

“You wouldn’t be a third wheel, exactly.”

When Clint finally explained himself, Bucky agreed to go, and that was how he ended up on what was essentially a date with Kate Bishop.

“You owe me,” Bucky hissed while they waited in line for popcorn.  “You somehow get asked out by two girls and you want your gay friend to take the hit?”

“I know, I’ll owe you forever.”

Natasha sat on one end, Bucky on the other, with Kate between him and Clint.  Bucky, figuring that he'd be more of a fourth wheel than a third wheel, settled back to eat his popcorn.  But Kate turned to him.  "I just love horror movies," she said.

"Really?"

"Surprised?" Kate said.  She reached over and snagged some popcorn, which made their shoulders come into contact. 

"A little, I guess."

Kate glanced over her shoulder.  Clint and Natasha were looking at something on Clint's phone and laughing, their heads touching.  Kate's hair whipped Bucky in the face as she turned back to him.  "Oh, yeah.  I watch horror movies all the time.  The gorier, the better."

"Oh.  Cool."

"What's your favorite scary movie?" she asked.  "Ha ha, get it?  It's a reference to _Scream_."

"I haven't seen that one," Bucky said.

"Whaaat?  You'll have to come over sometime and watch it with me.  I have the whole trilogy."  The lights dimmed a little for the previews, and Kate settled back in her seat, but not before she looped her arm through his elbow.  "So?  What's your favorite horror movie?"

"Um, _Silent Hill_ ," he said.

"Seriously?  You think that's better than _The Exorcist_?  _The Shining_?  _The Omen_?  What about _Friday the 13 th_?  Or _Nightmare on Elm Street_?"

"I don't really watch a lot of horror movies," Bucky said.

Kate snuggled up to him after another sideways glance.  "Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we?"

Bucky didn't really think that was necessary.  He was more concerned about how he could continue to eat his popcorn with his arm trapped.  He decided to just go for it.  Luckily, Kate realized the problem and loosened her grip a little.

"If you get scared and have to cover your eyes, I won't make fun of you," Kate told him.

"Okay," Bucky said. 

He hoped, once the movie started, that Kate would stop trying to make Clint jealous.  He shoveled popcorn into his mouth to keep her from even thinking about trying to kiss him.  Looking over at the happy couple, Bucky saw that Clint had his arm around Natasha and her head was on his shoulder.

The tub of popcorn wasn't near big enough. 

***

The guys left early on for a Saturday night.  In a way Steve was relieved: he'd been a little nervous with Thor's hand on his leg.  It had only lasted a few minutes, but those minutes had felt far too long.  And then, when they had settled in to watch the movie, Thor's whole side was pressed up against Steve's.  It reminded him of that time he and Bucky had watched _Brokeback Mountain_.  Only Thor's arm was even bigger than Steve's. 

The whole movie was spent sweating it out and hoping Tony and Bruce (and Loki!) didn't notice.

Now Steve had his personal space back, only to encounter the bed problem.

When he came out of the bathroom in his pajamas, he said, "I don't have a sleeping bag."

"Oh, yeah," said Thor.  "Well, we can share, right?  My bed's pretty big."

"Sure."  Steve looked at it.  The bed was king-size, and yet it did not look big enough for the two of them to have enough room.

"I'll get you some pillows.  Which side do you want?"

Steve shrugged.  "Doesn't matter."

"I'll take the left," said Thor as he crossed the hall to get the pillows from the guest room.

Looking at the bed, Steve wondered if that meant the left side when he was looking at it like this, or the left side when he was lying down in it.  Bucky always slept on the right side of the bed – he said it hurt his shoulder.  But then usually, when they woke up, Bucky had rolled over and buried his face in Steve's chest. 

"Here you go," Thor said, returning with the pillows and handing them over.

"I could sleep in the guest room," Steve suggested.

"Nah, man.  It's okay.  I'm cool with this."  Thor patted him on the shoulder.  His big hand lingered, squeezing Steve's bicep a little. 

"Okay."  Steve decided to sleep on the side that was where Bucky usually slept.  He figured that way there'd be no chance he'd wake up to find himself spooning Thor.

Thor reached down and took off his shirt.  He flung it in the general direction of his closet before sliding off his jeans.  In just his underwear, Thor stood in front of the mirror, flexing.

Steve focused on pulling back the covers and getting into bed.

His best friend sure had a lot of muscles.  Of course he did.  They lifted weights together during the off-season.  He knew Thor was built.  Whenever he had looked at Thor before, he'd only seen a muscle mass he hoped to attain. 

Of course, he'd never watched Thor do his flexing mostly naked.

Steve pulled the covers up and lay back.  Thor wasn't gay.  He had to remember that.

And if he was?

It didn't matter, Steve told himself.  Thor wasn't really his type.  His type was the dark-haired, lean muscle mass type.  Most of the time, anyway. 

Oh, god.  Thor was facing him now, but still flexing.

Steve looked in the opposite direction, at the calendar on the wall.  It was a Patriots calendar with a big photo of two linebackers grappling with each other. "It's about time you put those guns away," Steve said.

"Ha!" Thor grinned.  But he left the mirror behind.  And got into bed in just his underwear.

What was even happening? Steve wondered, staring at the ceiling as Thor turned off the lights.  Did Thor usually sleep in just his underwear?  No, they'd always worn pajama pants, like normal people. 

No, there was definitely not enough room in the bed for the two of them.  Thor was too close.

"Steve?" Thor's voice was quieter now that it was dark and the silence of the house had fallen over everything.

"Yeah?"

"Have you told anybody else about... you know.  That you're gay."

"Just Bucky.  And Sharon."

"Yeah, Sharon.  That makes sense."

"I wanted to tell you," Steve said after a long minute of silence. 

"I know."  Thor shifted, rolled to face Steve.  "It all makes sense now.  I get it."

He reached over, under the covers, and touched Steve's shoulder again. 

"Um," said Steve.  "I, uh."  He knew he needed to say something, quick.  The situation was swiftly turning into something he didn't fully understand.

"It's okay," Thor told him.  "I'm just glad you felt like you could tell me, you know?"

"Yeah," said Steve.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  He shifted a little, moving his shoulder away from Thor, but rolling so he could face his friend and get a better read on the situation.  “I’m nervous about telling the other guys.”

“I’m sure they won’t care.  Like me.”

Now Steve felt bad for thinking Thor was coming onto him.  Thor was a good friend.  “Yeah.  I hope.”

“They will, don’t worry.” 

“Thanks,” Steve said.

"So, do you wanna make out now?"

***

As they exited the theater, Bucky worked to extricate himself from Kate's grasp.  "I have to go to the bathroom," he said.  "Clint, come with me."

"I don’t have to go."  Clint had his arm around Nat's waist and the two of them looked totally comfortable, like they'd been dating for months rather than a week or so.

"You sure?" Bucky snapped.

That got Clint's attention.  "Uh, oh yeah, I guess I do."

Once inside the safety of the tiled walls, Bucky unleashed his frustration.  "Dude, does Kate know I'm gay?"

Clint shrugged.  "Doesn't everyone know?"

"Look, I kinda thought you were gonna make this a group hangout sort of thing.  Not a fucking double date."

Rubbing the back of his head, Clint looked sheepish.  "Yeah, but--"

"You should have--" he almost yelled, then remembered that the girls would probably be able to hear him.  He dropped his voice to a deadly hiss.  "You should have just told her you were going on a date with Natasha!"

"I guess."

"It's not fair to Kate to string her along.  I thought you didn't even like her."

Somehow, Clint looked even more sheepish.

Bucky stared at the blush spreading over Clint's face.  "You like her.  Are you freaking kidding me?"

"What do I do?" Clint covered his face with his hands.

Bucky sighed.

***

"I just thought that... when you told me you were gay... that meant you liked me," said Thor.

Steve was sitting up on his side of the bed, wondering what he should do.  "No," he said. 

"Why don't you like me?"  Thor looked down at his washboard abs. 

"I just... are _you_ gay?" Steve asked.

Thor finally looked a little embarrassed.  "I don't know."

"You don't know?"  Steve didn't understand how that could be.  Then again, he tried to remember Thor ever being interested in a girl, and couldn't.  He often took his friend Sif to the school dances – Sif was supposedly a nickname for Stephanie, but all the guys joked that it was short for syphilis.  Sif was on the girls' soccer team and had broad shoulders that next to Thor looked almost dainty.  He'd never seen Thor be affectionate with Sif or even kiss her.  They hung out like they were bros. 

Thor shrugged.  "I don't know.  Sometimes I feel like there's something wrong with me.  I thought maybe I could be gay too."

"You've never had a crush on anyone?" Steve asked. 

"Not really," said Thor. 

"Maybe you're asexual."

"Like an amoeba?"

Steve burst out laughing.  "No, no.  I mean, there are people who say they're asexual, they don't really get sexual feelings or whatever."

"Oh."  Thor considered this for such a long time that they both lay back down.  "Maybe that is what I am."

"It... kind of makes sense?" Steve said.  "I mean, you've never really had a girlfriend.  Or a boyfriend."

Thor turned to him suddenly.  "But, couldn't we just make out a little to see if I'm gay?"

"No."  Steve had to be firm.  "I thought, when you said it made sense that I was hanging around with Bucky – I thought you knew we were together?"

"What?  No.  Why?"  Shaking his head, Thor gestured in the air.  "I don't get it."

"Get what?" Steve asked.

"I mean, you could have me," Thor said.  "But instead you're choosing Bucky _Barnes_?"

"I like him," Steve said simply. 

"But..."  Thor flopped down onto his back, defeated.  Then he threw up his hands again. "But why?"

"What don't you understand?" Steve asked.  "He's my boyfriend.  I like him, he likes me."

"Well, I mean, he's not very nice," said Thor finally.

Steve knew this was how people saw Bucky, and he couldn't really blame them, but he still didn't think Thor was being totally honest with him.  "You think it's weird because of his arm."

"No!  Well, yeah, a little bit.  I mean, it's it kinda weird, that he doesn’t have an arm?"

"No," said Steve coldly.  "It isn't."

"I don't mean like that, bro.  I mean, like, do you think I'm attractive?  Like, at all?"

"Thor, just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm horny for every guy in the world," said Steve.  "You're my friend.  Objectively, you're a good-looking guy.  But it's more like I wish I looked like you than I want to date you."

"Oh.  So... you're only attracted to other gay guys?"

Steve sighed.


	35. Chapter 35

"Hey."

Bucky jumped, then smiled at Steve, who had just appeared at his locker.  "Hi."

"How was your weekend?" Steve asked.

"It was okay."  Bucky made a face.  "Clint made me go out with him and Natasha and Kate, only it was like a double date."

Steve raised his eyebrows.  "Should I be jealous?"

"Nah.  I managed to escape without her kissing me."  Bucky wondered if he should tell Steve how Kate had texted him Sunday morning to say _I had a really good time last night_. 

He had responded with _I had a good time too, but you know I'm gay, right?_

_Of course, duh!_

But then she hadn't texted anything after that.  He felt like he had somehow hurt her feelings.  Moreover, he was a little annoyed that Clint would pawn Kate off on him, to keep her interested if things didn't work out with Natasha.

"How was staying at Thor's?" he asked.

"Ugh," said Steve with a grimace of his own.

"Really?  That bad?" Bucky hoped Steve couldn't tell how happy he was to hear it.  Maybe in the future Steve would turn down weekends at Thor's house.  “What happened?”

“Well, I—”  Steve glanced around then dropped his voice.  “I, you know, told him about us.”

That got his attention.  He blushed a little.  “You did?”

That was all Bucky thought about for the rest of the day.  Thor knew.  Would he tell the other jocks?  Were they going to pick on Steve?  Bucky watched Steve at his lunch table even more closely than usual.  Thor was definitely looking at him.  Sizing him up.  Bucky ducked his head whenever he caught Thor’s eye. 

“Dude, where’s Natasha?” Clint asked, collapsing into the chair beside Bucky. 

Bucky shrugged.  “I don’t know.”

“And where’s Kate?”

“Really?”

Now it was Clint’s turn to shrug.  “I don’t know, I felt bad after you yelled at me—”

“I didn’t yell.”

“—but I haven’t see her all day, and you know she’s usually all over me.”

“Maybe she took the hint.  Figured out you were more interested in Natasha.”

Clint sighed.  “She didn’t even come to Subway yesterday.”

“Who, Kate or Natasha?”

“Kate.  She always comes to Subway when I’m working.  I didn’t have anyone to talk to.  It was kinda lonely.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.  Probably should have been honest with her.”

“Yeah.”

Clint hadn’t even started unpacking his big paper bag of lunch.  Clint not having an appetite meant this was serious.

***

"Just a reminder, everyone!" Pepper announced at lunch.  "Tickets for the winter formal go on sale Wednesday!"

The girls all looked excited, while the boys looked less than enthused.  Normally Steve didn't care one way or the other: he had always gone to the dance with Sharon, so it wasn't a big deal.  This year was different.  "It's not even Christmas yet," he complained.  "The formal isn't until the end of January."

"You going with Sharon this year?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know," said Steve.  "I don't know if I can even go."

"You can stay at my house if you need to," Thor offered. 

Steve thanked him, even as he side-eyed his best friend.  "Are you taking Sif?"

Thor shrugged. 

"Looks like none of us have dates this year," said Bruce with a sigh.  He shoved his sandwich in his mouth and took an enormous bite.  "Maybe weshuh jusshaffa parrinstea."

"What?" Steve asked.

Bruce swallowed, a process that took a few moments.  "Maybe we should just have a party instead."

All eyes turned to Tony.  "No can do, folks.  Pepper's heading the dance committee, which means I have to go, which means all of you have to go, too."

Steve didn't say anything to that.  Not only did he not have a date, but he didn't know if he'd have enough money for tickets even if he could work up the courage to ask Bucky to go to the dance with him. 

The money thing was beginning to bother him.  He had a saving account, but he didn't want to start raiding it for spending money.  He needed to find a job.  A lot of the other boys at the home had jobs.  If Luis could somehow get a job, Steve should be able to find something. 

Once he had money, then he would ask Bucky to the dance.  He would have plenty of time between now and then to come out to the rest of his friends, right?

***

Clint's situation worsened when Kate asked him to the winter formal.  The dance hadn't even been on Bucky's radar until that point.  He hadn't gone to a school dance since eighth grade, and it was a week before Christmas, which meant all his classes had tests and assignments due.

"Dude, what am I gonna do?" Clint was moaning. 

Bucky tried to ignore him.  In Bucky's opinion, pot was only making Clint more indecisive.  But given that he was the only other person in Clint's camper (Steve was staying over at Sharon's this weekend, which was fine since it meant Bucky had Steve for the Christmas holiday _and_ the whole weekend after that), Bucky eventually had to deal with Clint's dilemma.

"If you didn't want to go with her, then you shouldn't have said yes!" Bucky almost yelled.

Clint looked at him with glassy eyes.  "But I do want to go with her.  But I was going to ask Natasha."

"Then why didn't you tell Kate you were going to ask Natasha?"

"I..."  Clint stared off into the distance for a few moments.  "What if Natasha said no?"

"Then you don't go to the dance.  Big deal."  Bucky popped a cheese curl into his mouth.  "I'm not going."

"You're not?"

Bucky glared at him.

"It's a valid question," Clint said clearly. 

"I haven't gone to a dance since I was with Billy Kaplan," said Bucky. 

"And you haven't been with anyone since Billy," countered Clint.  Bucky narrowed his eyes.  It seemed like Clint was only too willing to focus on the mess of Bucky's love life rather than his own.  "I'm sure Mr. Football Star goes to all the school dances."

"It's a big step," Bucky said.  "I mean, come on.  He's only come out to, like, three people.  I'm sure he doesn't want to be walking into a dance with a guy and have everyone at school find out he's gay."

"Sure, dude," said Clint.

"Anyway, who gives a fuck if I go to this dance or not?  You're going with Kate.  Have you told Natasha, your girlfriend, that you're going to the dance with someone else?"

Clint's shoulders slumped.  "Nat's not my girlfriend."

"What?  Did she break up with you?  She seemed fine yesterday."  Nat had been sitting with them at lunch off and on over the past weeks.  It seemed more like she wanted to sit with her other friends sometimes, nothing to do with her relationship with Clint.

"No.  We're just not... official."

Bucky knew what that meant.  "So you haven't asked her to be your girlfriend, is that it?"

"I never had a girlfriend before!  I don't know how to do this!"  Clint exclaimed, then dropped his head into his hands.  "Why's this shit gotta be so complex, man?"

***

Then it was Christmas Eve and even though Mrs. Barnes dragged the boys to church, Steve and Bucky could easily put all their other worries out of mind.  Steve found himself getting a little choked up during the services but managed not to cry.  He tried not to think about his mom.  Instead he focused on how his arm was pressed up against Bucky's and Bucky's soft and low singing voice, almost like he was afraid to sing louder.  As Steve was standing right beside him, he could hear it and it made him smile.  He was pretty sure his own singing voice wasn't that good.

Afterwards, Mrs. Barnes wanted them to go with her to a party at a friend of hers, but Bucky begged off.  "Come on, Mom, it's always so boring there!" 

"But it's Christmas Eve!" Mrs. Barnes repeated.

Steve hung back in the kitchen doorway.  He could tell Mrs. Barnes didn’t want to leave them alone, and it wasn't until he saw the tears in her eyes that he began to understand why.  He was about to step in and tell her he didn't mind going, but then Bucky hugged his mom tight.  "We'll be okay, Mom.  We'll be here when you get home.  We'll wait up for you."

Steve stepped back until he was out of eyesight, pressing his spine into the wall.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that this was only Bucky's third Christmas without his dad and sister.  Once Mrs. Barnes had gone, Steve asked Bucky, "What was it like, the first Christmas..." He almost said, "without your dad," but then rephrased it.  "...after the accident?"

"I don't really remember," said Bucky.  He looked tired all of a sudden, like he had given his mother all of his energy in that hug.  "I was still in rehab.  Pretty drugged up.  You want something to eat?"  Bucky looked toward the kitchen with hollow eyes.

"Not right now."  Steve pulled Bucky into his arms and gave him a hard squeeze.  "I want to give you a present."

Bucky perked up a little at this.  "You don't want to wait until tomorrow?"

"Well, I technically have two presents for you.  But this one's private."

A blush spread over Bucky's cheeks.  "Okay."

They separated and Steve went to his duffel bag to retrieve it.  "I got a job," he said as he rooted around.  "So I ended up having money to buy you something, but for a few weeks I thought I wasn't going to have enough money to get you anything."

"When did you get a job?" Bucky asked.

"Oh, just a couple days ago.  I haven't technically started there yet."  Steve found his hardbound portfolio case and approached Bucky.  "I'm gonna be working at Subway.  Woo hoo."

"That's where Clint works," Bucky said, backing up so they could both sit on the couch.  "Why didn't you tell me you were even looking for a job?"

Steve shrugged and looked down at the black zippered case.  "I just... I guess I was kind of embarrassed.  My mom always said stuff like, 'You have to do well in school or else you'll be working in fast food for the rest of your life.'"

"My mom says that too."

"But I'm actually looking forward to getting a paycheck, you know?"  Steve unzipped the case.  "Anyway, so I made this for you before I thought I would have money to get you a real present."

Bucky looked ready to pounce.  A bit self-consciously, Steve opened the portfolio and pulled out a drawing.

"Oh," said Bucky, taking it.  His blush intensified, and Steve felt his own face heating up.

"I guess you can see why I didn't want to give this to you in front of your mom."

"Yeah." 

For a little while Bucky didn't say anything, and Steve started to wonder if Bucky didn't like it.  Then Bucky asked, "Do you really think I look like that?"

"Yes."  The word came out in a breathy rush as he leaned forward and pulled Bucky toward him until their mouths met. 

The kiss was hot and frantic and almost immediately Steve's jeans felt too tight. 

Suddenly, though, Bucky was pulling away.  "Wait, wait," he said, laughing a little.  "I don't want it to get ruined.  Also we should probably close the curtains."  Unlikely as it was that anyone would be out walking at this hour on Christmas, Steve agreed that it was a good idea.

"Let's go up to my room," Bucky said, and pulled Steve upstairs.

They tumbled onto the bed and there time slipped away.  Steve couldn't say how many minutes or hours had passed before he found himself with no shirt on and Bucky trailing kisses down his chest and stomach and lower.  He didn't know where Bucky had learned to do any of this; he alternately closed his eyes or looked down at the top of Bucky's head as he tried not to fall under the rush of feelings washing over him.  Eventually it became too much, though, and even more time was lost then. 

After, Bucky crawled up to lie beside him.  "Was that okay?" he asked.

In response, Steve kissed him. 

For a long time they lay face to face.  Steve stroked Bucky's hair and face and Bucky ran his fingers along Steve's back.  It tickled, but Steve endured it because at this moment what he felt for Bucky made his chest hurt. 

"Where did you learn how to do that?" Steve asked, after they had both decided they should get their clothes back on and head downstairs to await the return of Bucky's mom.

Red-faced, Bucky muttered, "Cosmo."

"What?"

A sigh.  "You know.  The magazine.  Cosmo."

Steve seemed to remember Sharon reading that magazine.  "Girls' magazines tell you how to give blow jobs?" he exclaimed.

Bucky shrugged.

When Mrs. Barnes came home, Bucky and Steve were settled on the couch, eating leftover lasagna and freshly made garlic bread and watching "Elf."  It was towards the end of the movie, and then Mrs. Barnes wanted to watch her favorite Christmas movie, "It's a Wonderful Life."  By the end they were all crying, probably for different reasons, but it felt good to get it out, and besides, Steve wouldn't be alone tonight.  That was something.


	36. Chapter 36

The Christmas vacation went by way too fast.  Suddenly it was a new year and Bucky was back at school, although he did have one little thing to look forward to: seeing Steve in his new scarf.  It wasn’t the biggest of the gifts Bucky and his mom had picked out for Steve, but it was the one he had bought himself, and the blue matched Steve’s eyes so perfectly. 

Oh, and there was the little matter of the winter formal.

Tickets to the dance had been Steve’s gift for Bucky.  “You’re really ready for this?” he had asked Steve quietly, before his mother had noticed what the gift was.  She was busy exclaiming over the hand soap Steve had given her. 

“I will be.”  Steve had looked determined. 

And then Mrs. Barnes had asked what the gift was and she was thrilled.  Up until Bucky’s grandparents arrived, all she talked about was taking them out to be “outfitted” for the dance.   “This isn't like prom, Ma,” Bucky had said.  She just waved him off.

Bucky and Steve had talked about how Steve might come out to the rest of his friends.  He didn’t want to tell everyone all at once.  But it wasn’t exactly easy for him to hang out with his friends lately, and he worried that telling anyone while they were at school would result in rumors and gossip.

A flash of red caught Bucky’s eye, and he called out, “Hey, Natasha!”

Natasha turned, and so did Kate, who was walking arm in arm with her.  “Yasha, hello,” she said.  “What is up?”

“Nothing, I just haven’t seen you in a while,” Bucky said, glancing at Kate.  He had wanted to ask Nat about Clint, but it wasn’t anything he wanted Kate to hear.  “How was Christmas?”

“I received many gift from my host family.  And soon will be shipment from my family in Russia.  How is your holidays?”

“Good, good.”  Then he remembered Kate.  “How was your Christmas?”

“Great,” she said.  “I got a new coat.”

Bucky had noticed the peacoat she was wearing.  “You sure like purple, don’t you?”

Natasha hugged Kate close and glared at Bucky.  “I think matching coat is cute.  Kate is very cute, yes?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky said.  “I like her matching outfits.”

Kate smirked at him.

“Yes.  Kate is cute.”  Natasha turned her face and kissed Kate’s cheek.  Kate blushed. 

Bucky wasn’t sure where this was going, but he had a feeling Natasha might be trying to pawn Kate off on him, just like Clint had.  Maybe Kate had told Natasha that she liked Bucky.  Natasha seemed to understand that Bucky was gay, but sometimes he wondered if something wasn’t lost in translation. 

“Okay, we must go,” Natasha said.

“Bye,” said Kate, and as a unit, the two of them turned and headed off down the hall.

Bucky was still shaking his head when Clint finally showed up.  “Are they gone yet?”

"Were you... were you hiding from them?" Bucky asked.

Clint sighed and collapsed against the lockers.  "Dude, I am in deep shit here.  For real."

***

It wasn't Steve's first day on the job.  He had worked a couple of shifts over the break.  Both times he had shadowed a girl named Kamala who had a tendency to babble.  She was a senior and Steve recognized her from the tutoring center, where he had volunteered last year for community service hours.  Today, however, was the first day Steve was working on his own, not shadowing.  And his coworker turned out to be Clint.

Steve arrived promptly after school – pretty easy, considering all he had to do was cross the street.  Clint, on the other hand, showed up fifteen minutes later, reeking of smoke.  The manager was a guy named Wade who didn't seem to care much one way or the other.  "Late again, Barton," Wade said with supreme indifference.

"Yo," was Clint's response.

Steve watched Clint tie on his apron, then notice that all the prep work had been done already.  "Whoa," Clint said, squinting at Steve.  "Sweet.  I love working with noobs."

Students stopping by for an after-school snack started trickling in.  "Oh, hi," said a girl Steve knew from science class – Jane Foster.  She blushed and stammered out her order.  After he rang her up – slowly, he was still learning the cash register, and the whole exchange made him feel like an idiot – Steve saw through the big windows that some of his friends were heading this way.  Bruce, Thor, and Brock.  Steve sighed.

He hadn't told them about his new job.  Now he felt like big jerk.  Once again, he was going to look like he was keeping secrets from them. 

Behind the counter, he took a deep breath and resolved to not be a coward about this. 

His green uniform shirt seemed to help him fade into the background for a couple of minutes as the three of them looked up at the menu.  Then Brock noticed him.  "Hey!  When did you start working here, Rogers?"

He tried to block out the shock on Bruce and Thor's faces.  "Last week," he said.  Then, before he could get any questions about _Why do you need a job?_ or _How come you didn't tell me?_ , Steve added, "Gotta pay for college somehow."

"So do you have to work every day?" Thor asked, probably already thinking ahead to next year's football season.

Steve felt Clint staring at him and ignored it.

"No.  Just a few hours a week.  I'm working today and Thursday."

Thor nodded.  Bruce rocked on his heels.  Brock was still looking up at the menu board.

"So... what can I get you?"

"I want a meatball pepperoni melt," said Brock immediately.

While Steve asked the requisite questions and prepared Brock's sandwich, he could now feel Thor and Bruce staring at him.  Pitying him. 

Clint finally roused himself from his stupor.  "Yeah, so like, you guys decided what you want yet?" he asked Thor and Bruce. 

_Thank god_ , Steve thought.  Clint took Bruce's order, and after Steve had rung up Brock (who made sure to count through his change to make sure it was correct, then said, "Nice, you didn't screw anything up") he headed back down to get Thor's order.

"When does your shift end?" Thor asked.

"Five."

"You wanna come over after?  My mom won't mind."

"It's okay, someone's picking me up.  But maybe another day?"  Steve hoped there would be another day.  He hoped Thor wasn't mad.

"Yeah, you said Thursday?  We could do Thursday."

"Cool," said Steve in relief.

The bell over the door rang and Steve glanced up to see a dark-haired girl coming in.   Steve recognized her, but it wasn't until Clint said, "Hey, Kate, what's up?" that Steve remembered this girl often sat with Bucky at lunch.

Thor looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead took his sandwich from Steve and plunked his change in the paper cup next to the register.  Someone had written in Sharpie on the cup: _Tips for Good Service_.  "Can you, like, come sit with us?  Hang out?" Thor asked, turning back to Steve.

A glance through the plate glass windows showed no more customers, for the next couple of minutes anyway.  Clint had his elbows up on top of the counter and was talking to Kate in a low voice.  "So I should wear a purple tie then?"

"Just the boutonniere," said Kate.  She smiled and added, "A purple tie would be cute, though."

"Yeah, I can sit with you guys."  Steve lifted the counter top and let himself out into the small dining area.

The topic of conversation was the dance. 

"I don't know who to ask," Bruce muttered.  He was barely eating his sandwich. 

Brock, on the other hand, had mostly finished his.  "Hey, Steve, you mind if I ask Sharon?  She's super hot.  You think she'd go with me?"

"Hmmm," said Steve noncommittally. He didn't think Sharon would want to go with Brock.  But she hadn't mentioned having a date yet, and he didn't know how desperate she would be feeling. 

"Do you have a date yet?" Bruce asked Thor.

After a long moment of chewing and looking thoughtful, Thor swallowed and stood up.  "I will," he said.

They all stared at him as he walked past them, toward the front door.  They might have looked as surprised as Jane Foster did when Thor said, "Jane Foster, would you like to go to the winter dance with me?"

Steve couldn't remember Thor ever having spoken to Jane before.  Or speaking as formally as he just had.  He half-expected Thor to bow or something.

"Uh, um, what?" Jane said, holding a hand over her mouth.  She swallowed and choked a little and then said again, "What?"

"Would you give me the pleasure of being my date to the winter formal?" Thor asked again, in the same formal booming voice.

"Oh... ha, ha, that's what I thought you said, um," Jane said.  "Uh..."   She glanced over at Steve, Bruce, and Brock, and they dutifully pretended to be looking someplace else.  "This isn't a 'She's All That' situation, is it?"

"I don't know what that means," said Thor. 

"Oh, screw it.  Okay.  I'll go to the dance with you."

A few minutes later, Thor was returning to the table with Jane's number stored in his phone and a pleased look on his face.  _To think he was ready to kiss me a few weeks ago_ , Steve thought to himself with a bemused smile. 

"So that still leaves the rest of us without dates," Bruce summed up.

Steve wanted to say something.  He wanted to tell them he did have a date.  Actually, Thor already knew. 

_Why was this so hard??_

"I have a date," Steve heard himself say.  Was he imagining how quiet the sandwich shop had become?

"Who?" Bruce asked.

Apparently, declaring he had a date to the dance was all his throat was going to let him say. 

"It's a surprise," Thor said after an awful silence.

"Is she hot?" Brock asked.

"I can't believe this," Bruce muttered, balling up his wrapper with the uneaten portion of his sub inside.  "I'm the only fucking loser without a date."

"You'll find someone," Thor said.  "You could take Sif, if you want.  She's cool."

"Whatever."  Bruce got up and stormed off.

Brock seemed content to sit there and finish off his sandwich, but Thor kicked him.  "Come on, man," Thor said.  "We gotta go stop him from destroying the city."

"Sorry," said Steve, because he didn't know what else to say.

"You'll get there," Thor said.  He gave Steve a little clap on the shoulder and then he and Brock left.

After a while, more customers came in, and Kate and Jane had both gone, and then it was just him and Clint.  And Wade.  After they had finished washing anything that needed washing, and prepping everything for the inevitable dinner rush, they were left standing behind the counter without much to do.

"So... you're goin' to the dance with Bucky, right?" Clint asked.

"Yeah," Steve said.

Eventually five o'clock rolled around and the next shift arrived and the group home van pulled in.  Naturally, Luis, Scott and Dave wanted to get sandwiches, and they wanted Steve to be the one serving them.  But then Steve could finally get out of there.  He had a headache.

***

"Dude, when's your boyfriend gonna come outta the closet?" Clint asked, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

Mrs. Barnes hadn't been too happy about Bucky going out on a weeknight, but Clint had texted a 911 and she had yoga class, so Bucky was over at Clint's thinking about how Clint's 911 texts were never exactly emergencies.

"I thought we were here to talk about how you have two dates to the dance?" Bucky said.

"Yo," started Clint, like he was going to halt his own life to talk about Bucky's, then he flopped back into the couch.  "Ugh.  Fuckin' Natasha didn't even ask me!  She just started talking like we were automatically going together.  I guess one of her cheerleader friends told her I bought tickets, so she figures we're going together.  Fuckin' hell.  How the fuck did this happen?"

"You didn't think to tell her you were going with someone else?"

"Fuck," Clint repeated.  He blinked and it was like a fire had been lit inside him.  He sat up and looked at Bucky so intensely that Bucky had to sit back.  "I've got it!  You, my friend, can help me."

"I'm not taking Kate to the dance," Bucky said flatly.

"No, man.  I got it all worked out!  You buy one ticket to the dance.  And then you give the ticket to me.  Now I have tickets for both my dates but no one will know, because the cheerleaders won't know to tell Natasha.  Yeah?  Brilliant, right?"

"You have the money for the tickets?"

Clint pulled out his velcro wallet and a huge wad of cash.

"Where are you getting all that money?" Bucky asked, taking the forty dollars.

"I'm a working stiff," Clint replied. 

"You're not selling drugs, right?"

Clint winked at him.  "Breaking bad, man."

"Clint, you can't be selling drugs.  You're gonna get in trouble."

"I'm not selling drugs.  Not really.  'Sides, it's just pot."

"No."  Bucky stood up.  "Seriously, you're not that stupid."

"Who's calling who stupid?" Clint said.  He relaxed back on the couch.  "Your boyfriend still won't tell anyone he's your boyfriend."

Bucky threw up his hands.  "I think my closeted boyfriend is a far cry from dealing drugs, Clint."

The smug look faded from Clint's face.  "I know.  I keep telling myself I'm not gonna do it... but I need the money."

"You have a job."

"It's minimum wage, dude.  Sometimes it just seems easier to do the other stuff on the side, make a little extra.  I wanna get a car someday.  I wanna get the fuck out of this place."

"You will.  There's always college—"

"Goddamn, Bucky, you know I ain't goin' to college.  I'm not like you or your idiot boyfriend."

Bucky didn't know what to say to that. 

"I'll stop."  Clint rubbed his eyes.  "I promise.  No more drug stuff."

"Okay."

"But you gotta do somethin' about Steve.  He told his buddies he had a date to the dance but then when they asked him who he didn't say anything.  I mean, come on.  Don't you wanna be with someone who will, like, say your name in public?"

Bucky felt his face burning.  He had figured Steve would have told a few more of his friends by now, given that both Sharon and Thor knew.  "Who didn't he tell?"

"I don't know.  His football buddies.  That big dumb blond kid and that sophomore fuckhead and stupid fuckin' Bruce Banner.  I had to make fuckin' Bruce Banner a sandwich.  It's like he waits until I have to serve him.  He comes in there just to make me feel like dirt."

_That sophomore fuckhead_ could be anyone, but Bucky guessed that the _big dumb blond kid_ was Thor.  So why wouldn't Steve have told Bruce? 

"Bruce is an asshole," Bucky offered.  Maybe Steve was worried about Bruce's temper.

Clint stood up and suddenly Clint was holding Bucky’s shoulders and smashing their foreheads together.  “It shouldn’t matter if he’s an asshole or not.  You deserve better.”

“O-okay,” Bucky said.

“I’m tired of those jerk jocks treating you like shit,” Clint continued.  Then he stopped talking, and just looked at Bucky really intensely. 

“You’re really high right now, aren’t you,” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” said Clint.

High or not, Clint’s words stuck with Bucky the whole walk home. 


	37. Chapter 37

"Bruce, I'm gay."

Even in his empty room, the words were hard to get out.  Steve sighed.  He just hoped none of the guys downstairs could hear him.  "Bruce..."  He sighed again and looked down at his phone.

He had a limited window.  Pete would be back soon – he had some after-school club he went to on Tuesdays.  And all day Steve had been biting back these words.  He wanted to explain himself to Bruce.  He thought it might make Bruce feel better about not having a date. 

 _How?_   How would that be making Bruce feel better? _Well, you don't have a date, but I'm gay._  

Steve ignored the queasy feeling in his stomach and dialed Bruce's number.

Bruce picked up on the first ring.  "What's up?"

"Hi," said Steve.  He hadn't been prepared for what's up.  _What's up?  I'm gay_.  "Um, do you have a minute?"

"Sure.  Just doing homework.  What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, Steve started with, "So, um, you know how I said I have a date to the dance?"

The silence on the other end of the line told Steve that Bruce was still sore about that whole situation.  "Yeah?"  There it was, a sharp edge to Bruce's voice.

"Um... I didn't want to say who it was because—"

"Fuck, you asked Natasha, didn't you?" Bruce exploded.

"No!" Steve said, but in the seconds it took Steve's brain to even process that leap, Bruce was on a roll.

"You fucking dickbag, are you fucking kidding me?" 

Steve tried to gently get through Bruce's barrage of expletives, but Bruce was not going to be talked down.  Not when he was in this mood.  Bruce's attitude – the fact that he thought Steve would do something like ask out his ex-girlfriend – made Steve's own anger rise up.  "I'm fucking gay, Bruce!  Jesus Christ!  I'm taking Bucky Barnes to the dance!  I called to fucking tell you I'm gay, okay?"

That did it.  Bruce let out a few more swears, but they were more to express his surprise than anything directed at Steve.  In Bruce's sudden shock, Steve was better able to explain.

"Yeah, I didn't want to say it in front of Brock, I guess.  Thor already knows.  We've been together since Halloween."

"You're gay?" Bruce said.

"Yeah."

"Gay.  Like, butt sex gay?"

"Well, I'm still a virgin, but yeah."

"You're a virgin?" Bruce exclaimed.

It took some time, but Steve was finally able to convince Bruce that he was, in fact, gay.  "Yeah.  I don't know.  I guess I kept hoping I wasn't.  And then Bucky..."

"You're dating Bucky Barnes, for real?  I mean, I guess that's good.  For you.  I always thought he was kind of a dick, but if you like him..."

"Sometimes _you're_ kind of a dick," Steve pointed out.

"Yeah.  Sorry."  On the other end of the line, Bruce was probably blushing and hanging his head.  Steve wished Bucky could get to know that side of Bruce, the almost shy side.  "I get why you didn't want to say that in front of Brock.  So, um, when you go to the dance, like, everyone's gonna know, though.  You know? That you're gay."

"Yeah," said Steve.  "I guess... My mom wouldn't have wanted me to keep it a secret.  I wanted tell you and my friends and stuff before the dance, but yeah.  I want everyone to know.  I think... it would have made my mom happy."

***

Bucky hung back in the hallway and tried not to look suspicious. 

"What are you waiting for?" Clint hissed.  "Go now.  I don't see Kate or Natasha."

"Sharon's working the table," Bucky hissed back.  "She knows Steve asked me to the dance.  She's going to wonder why the fuck I'm buying another ticket."

"Say it's for a friend."

"That's lame."

"Say you lost yours."

"Don’t be stupid."

"I'll buy it another day," Bucky said.  "When someone else is at the table."

"Grow a set, dude."

Clint shoved him, and Bucky shoved him back, and then they had to jump apart and pretend to be not fighting as Principal Coulson headed down the hall.

"Go!" Clint said once danger had passed, and shoved Bucky again.

"Keep shoving me and I'll shove this money up your ass," Bucky warned, but dragged himself over to the table. 

Sharon looked up.  "Hi, Bucky."

"Hi, um, I need to buy a ticket?" Bucky said.  He held up the wad of money Clint had given him.

"Oh."  She looked confused and a little flustered, but she quickly covered it up and peeled a ticket from the stack.  "Just a single ticket?"

"Yeah."

"That's thirty-five dollars." 

It was excruciating, watching Sharon count out the crumpled ones and fives.  Bucky could tell Sharon wanted to ask, was trying to come up with the right words.  "It's not for me," he blurted out.

"What?"  Sharon looked up from the money.

"Uh, it's for someone else.  You know I'm going to the dance with St—"  Bucky stopped and glanced around.  There were a couple other girls standing around chatting.  "You know."

"Yeah," Sharon said.  "I thought he'd told me that, I thought maybe he hadn't actually asked you yet or something--"

"He did.  Yeah.  This is for someone else who needed a ticket. That's all."

Sharon laughed.  "Okay, no worries.  I just need their name for the list?"

"Oh, uh, oh."  Bucky glanced down the hall.  Clint had disappeared.  Fuck.  "I... can't give you their name.  I mean, do you really need their name?  As long as they have a ticket?"

This was apparently something Sharon had dealt with before.  "The school has a policy, students can bring guests who don't go here, but we need to have their name."

"Oh, well, this is for a student," Bucky said. 

"Well, I guess if it's a student," she said quietly.  "But it's kinda shady that you won't tell me their name."

"Sorry," said Bucky.

"Is there a reason why I shouldn't tell Steve about this?" Sharon asked.  She looked at Bucky like she meant business as she held out the ticket.

"Um, no.  I'll tell him about it.  I just... can't tell you.  That's all.  But I'll tell him."  Bucky reached for the ticket, only Sharon wouldn't let go.

"You have until tomorrow," she said.  "Then I'm going to tell him."

Shit, Sharon was threatening him?  "I will.  I swear!"  _Was he actually afraid of her?_

She released the ticket and he backed away slowly before hurrying off. 

***

"Hey Steve," Bucky said, grabbing Steve's arm.  "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Bucky!  Hey!  Did you get..." Clint's voice trailed off.  He vanished into the crowd before Bucky could turn around.  Probably because Steve was standing at his locker, talking to Bruce and Thor.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the man of the hour," said Bruce. 

Bucky gave Bruce a sharp look, although Bruce didn't _look_ like he was making fun of Bucky. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bucky demanded.

"Nothing," Steve said.  He smiled at Bucky.  "Everything's good."

"Okay," said Bucky.

"What did you need to talk to me about?" Steve asked.

Bucky glanced over at Thor and Bruce, who were watching this interaction with great interest.  "Uhhh... it's private.  You know what?  I'll just call you later."

"Bucky, it's okay," Steve said quietly.  "I told Bruce last night."

"Told him what?" Bucky asked, then understood.  "Oh."  He suddenly felt exposed.  He'd never thought of himself in the closet or hiding that he was gay, but after so long with him and Steve being a secret, it felt strange that other people knew.  "Okay.  I mean, what I wanted to talk to you about wasn't private like that.  It's... something else.  Never mind.  It's not that important."

"You sure?" Steve asked, his voice still quiet. 

Bucky liked when Steve's voice was quiet like this.  It reminded him of when Steve slept over.  "Yeah, I'm sure," he said.  He released Steve's arm, which he'd forgotten he was holding.  "See you later."

***

"Aww, that was so sweeeet," said Bruce.  Thor snickered, but he was also grinning.  Steve felt his face burning. 

"What d'ya think, B, you think Steve would be better off dating me?"

"What?" Bruce stopped smiling.  "Are you gay, too?"

"Who's gay?  Thor's gay?"

If only Steve could fold himself into his locker and disappear.  Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to fit into his locker since seventh grade.

Tony clapped Thor on the shoulder.  "It comes as no surprise, my friend.  You're like a Greek god.  An Adonis."

"What d'ya mean, no surprise?" said Thor.  "I'm not gay.  St--"  Thor choked on his words as he realized he was about to blow his best friend's secret.  He actually clapped his hands over his mouth.

Steve blew out a breath.  "It's fine, Thor."  He turned to Tony.  "I'm the one who's gay."

"Oh," said Tony.  He squinted at Steve a little.  "Okay."

Tony Stark was unflappable.

Briefly, Steve considered telling Tony about the crush he'd had on him back in middle school, then decided against it.  Thor would get jealous. 

"I was just _say_ ing," Thor said, his face pink, "wouldn't Steve be better off dating me?"

"Better off?"  Tony smirked at Steve.  "Who _are_ you dating?  Stephen Grant Rogers, you little slut."

Okay, now Steve thought he might have shriveled up inside enough to squeeze into his locker.

"He's dating that one-armed kid," supplied Bruce, when Steve could manage to squeeze a word out of his constricted throat.  Tony Stark had just called him a slut, but in a cute way.  The way someone who was kind of proud of someone's promiscuity might say. 

But Bruce's words obliterated that. 

"His _name_ is Bucky Barnes," Steve corrected. 

"Yeah, but what I'm saying is you _could_ have a boyfriend with _two_ arms," Thor said.  Thor flexed, like Steve needed to be aware that Thor had two arms.

That was it.  Steve slammed his locker shut.  "I'd appreciate it if you didn't make fun of him," he snapped.

He fumed as he pushed his way through the crowded hallways.  This was why he hadn't told his friends.  His "friends." 

"Steve, wait." 

He recognized Thor's voice and kept walking. 

"Steve..."  Steve could hear Thor having a hard time getting through the crowd to catch up to him, having to apologize to everyone he hit.  Steve didn't even know where he was going until he saw Sharon at the snowflake-covered table in the front lobby.  He headed straight for her.  Unfortunately, the crowd thinned out here in the wider space by the office, and that allowed Thor to catch up to him.

In one motion Thor grabbed Steve by the arm and crushed him into a hug.  His words came out in a rush against Steve's ear.  "Steve, I'm sorry, please don't hate me."

"Ugh," Steve managed to say.  He tried shoving Thor off of him, but it was a battle he would lose.  "Knock it off, jerk."

"I'm sorry!" Thor repeated.  "Seriously.  I shouldn't have said that.  You know how it is, sometimes you're just joking around but you end up saying something really mean..."

"Not really," Steve said into Thor's jacket, still pushing against Thor's brick wall of a chest.

"Of course you don't!  You're Steve Rogers.  You're the best guy I know.  You'd never say anything like that.  And you're right, I am a total jerk for what I said.  I'm a giant fucking asshole--"

"Language!" called Principal Coulson from across the hall.  "And maybe a little less roughhousing, boys."

"Sorry, Mr. Coulson," said Steve and Thor automatically.

Thor released Steve, and for a minute Steve tugged down his shirt and glared at Thor. 

"Seriously, I'm sorry," Thor said.  "I don't know why I'm jealous of Bucky... I guess I figure if you have a boyfriend you don't need a best friend, too."

Steve had never seen Thor look so much like a kicked puppy.  He had to remind himself that he hadn't done anything to Thor.  "Okay," said Steve.  "Apology accepted."

Now Thor was hugging him again, but this time Steve patiently endured it. 

"Geez, Steve, what's your deal?" asked Tony.  He and Bruce had finally caught up to them.

"No, guys," said Thor.  "Steve was right to be mad.  We can't make fun of his boyfriend, okay?"  Tony nodded his assent, and Bruce hung his head and apologized. 

Crisis averted.  And oddly enough, Steve felt good about the whole thing.  He had come out to all of his close friends.  The dance was going to be a piece of cake.

***

Steve had laughed when Bucky told him about Clint's plan.  "He knows Natasha's gonna kill him, right?"

"I'll have a body bag at the ready," Bucky said. 

On Thursday afternoon, Bucky couldn't help himself.  He took his time after school and then meandered over to Subway.  Steve had told Bucky not to visit him at work, but that was on Monday and he'd been nervous about his first real day on the job.  Bucky had tried not to laugh at Steve's seriousness.  Clint worked at Subway, which meant there wasn't a very high bar as far as skill level.  Besides, Bucky hadn't had any alone time with Steve in almost two weeks.

He wasn't exactly prepared for the sight of Steve in the green Subway uniform shirt.

He'd seen Clint in the shirt before, he hadn't thought anything of it.  But Steve... he swung his messenger bag around in front of his hip to hide the evidence of what that shirt did for him. 

Steve's shirts were always a bit on the snug side.  It was like stores didn't make shirts big enough for Steve's muscle mass.  The Subway uniform factory certainly didn't.  The green polo shirt was practically painted on.

"Hi," said Steve, grinning.  "I wasn't expecting to see you."

Bucky waved at Clint, who was in the back room.

"Well, I thought maybe I was hungry for a sandwich."  Bucky ran his fingers along the edge of the countertop.  "And I heard there was this really hot guy working here now..."

Steve laughed, and that made Bucky blush a little bit.  That, and the way he could see Steve's nipples through the shirt.  Jesus.  Maybe this weekend they could... do a little bit more than what they'd been doing.

"Is that a five-dollar footlong in your pocket, or are you just happy to see your boyfriend?" Clint called from the back.

"Jesus, Clint!" Bucky exclaimed, but since the place was empty, he could laugh it off.  Steve's attention had been redirected downward and now both of them were blushing and laughing.  "Um, so I can't wait for this weekend," he said.

"Me, too," said Steve, and neither of them were talking about going shopping for suits.


	38. Chapter 38

School ended up cancelled on Friday, after the sky dumped eight inches of snow overnight.  Bucky wasn't much help shoveling, but he could push the snowblower with his prosthetic arm.  Afterwards, he felt cold and exhausted and spent the day wishing Steve had been snowed in with him.  Instead, he watched a movie and drank hot cocoa with his mom, and got ahead on his schoolwork and went online.

By Saturday he had cabin fever and even though he was dying for some private time with Steve, he wanted to get out of the house.

"Wanna go to the movies?" he asked Steve after they had picked him up from the group home.

"Sure," said Steve. 

"Mom?  Can we go to the movies?"

"Do you even know what movies are playing?" she fired back.

He pulled up the information on his phone and they picked out a movie.  His leg bounced up and down with excitement.  He couldn't wait to share popcorn and hold hands, in the dark but also sort of in public.

He was so excited he barely noticed that Steve didn't seem as excited as he did until they were close to the front of the line for the movie.  "I, um, I don't..." Steve mumbled something Bucky didn't quite catch.  The matinee movie lines were full of families.  The kids directly behind Steve and Bucky were loudly having a pretend lightsaber battle that their tired-looking father didn't seem to even notice. 

"What?" Bucky asked, leaning in.

"I don't have any money."  Steve's voice was a whisper.

"It's okay," Bucky said, surprised that Steve thought he'd have to pay.  "My mom gave me money."

Steve didn't look happy.

"Steve."  He bumped into Steve's arm and repeated, "It's okay."

"I just..."  Steve didn't finish his sentence.  Instead he looked out the windows into the parking lot while Bucky stepped forward and paid for the two of them. 

"Come on," Bucky said.  He was fumbling a bit putting the change back in his wallet.  This always happened to him at stores; he felt like he was taking too long and the people behind him would get impatient, so he tried to slide out of the way, then just shoved the change and wallet into his pocket because he wanted to hold Steve's hand. 

But then Steve had his hands in his pockets, and Bucky figured he was pushing it to think Steve was ready to do any kind of PDA.  "You want any snacks?" Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head.

"Well, I'm going to get popcorn," Bucky said, and pulled Steve over to the concessions counter, where he ordered a medium tub and a large soda.  "Can you carry this?" he asked Steve, handing over the popcorn. 

Once in their seats, Bucky hoped Steve's weird mood would go away.  He tilted the popcorn.  "You want some?"

Steve shook his head again.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked. 

"Yeah," said Steve.

"Okay."  After a long moment of silence, Bucky added, "Because I don't mind taking you out on a date."

Steve looked at him.  There was a little smile on his face.

"Yep," Bucky said, leaning back in his seat.  "I like being your Sugar Daddy."

Now it was a grin.  "Stop it," Steve said, but he was definitely smiling.

"I'll spoil you rotten," Bucky warned, then looped his hand through Steve's arm on the armrest and rested his cheek on Steve's shoulder.  "Is this okay?  Do you want me to wait until it gets dark in here?"

Steve twined his fingers through Bucky's, then reached over and stole some popcorn.  "Nope.  This is good."

***

"I wish it could be like this all the time," Steve whispered that night, after they had kissed each other raw and lay skin to skin under a heap of blankets.  He had that nighttime, love drunk feeling that he could tell Bucky anything.

"Like what?" Bucky asked.  In the darkness his eyes were all dark lashes on pale cheeks.  "Naked?"  He moved under the sheets to remind Steve, not that Steve needed reminding.  He didn't know what had taken them so long.  He never wanted to put his clothes back on.

"That, too."  Another kiss, meant to be quick, except it went on a little longer than he'd intended.  "Easy, I mean."

With Sharon, things had been totally different.  He could never quite figure out what to do with her, mostly because he wasn't interested.  Once she had taken his hand and placed it on her chest, and he'd sat there, squeezing it, not sure if that felt good to her or not.  With Bucky, he just knew, and not only because they had the same anatomy.

When Bucky blinked, his eyelashes whispered against Steve's chin.  "Yeah."

It was hard to shake off that feeling, long into the next day, and Monday, when Steve found himself staring across the cafeteria at Bucky.  He kept thinking how he felt like there had been nothing between them, no boundaries – but now, here at school, there might have been a brick wall separating them. 

That was when Steve realized that there didn't _have_ to be.

"I'll be right back," he told Thor, and got up.  He left his lunch at the table, and walked over to Bucky's table.

***

 _Where was Natasha?_   Bucky wondered.  Clint wasn't in school, but she wasn't over with the cheerleaders, either.  He was scanning the crowds for Kate and her friends – not that he'd ever really met her friends, they were just a bunch of nondescript, slightly dorky girls – when he saw Steve approaching him.

He froze.

So many thoughts ran through his head: was Steve coming to sit with him?  Was Steve coming to break up with him?  Was Steve on his way to the bathroom?  Nope, Steve was definitely heading straight toward him.  Bucky glanced at Steve's friends and they weren't all staring in this direction (well, Thor was, but Steve had told Bucky how Thor seemed to be jealous of Bucky, which for some reason made Bucky feel really good) so Steve hadn't told them where he was going.  It wasn't a loud announcement like, "I'm going to sit with my boyfriend, Bucky Barnes!"

"Hey," said Steve when he'd reached the empty table where Bucky was sitting.  Bucky suddenly felt like a huge loser.  Steve was dating a loser. 

"Hey," Bucky mumbled.

"You wanna come sit with us?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked over at the table – correction, _tables_ – full of football players and cheerleaders and popular people, most of whom had never spoken to Bucky.  "Um," he said.

"Come on," Steve said softly, that same low voice that reminded Bucky of the things they did when they were alone together, "come sit with me."

And then Bucky was packing up his Tupperware containers and Steve was helping him fit them back into his lunch bag and he was walking across the cafeteria with his face on fire and feeling like everyone was staring at him, except when he finally reached Steve's seat, which Steve offered up to him as he dragged up a new chair for himself, it wasn't everyone in the cafeteria staring at him.  Just a few people at this particular lunch table, and most of them were just casual glances, and smiles from the people who knew.

"Hey," said Thor.

"Bout time you finally joined us, Barnes," said Tony. 

"What the hell is that?" Bruce asked, as Bucky opened up a Tupperware container of what his mother called "Southwest Salad."

A little while later, Steve leaned in and whispered in Bucky's ear, "I guess it _can_ be easy all the time."

***

But, of course, it wasn't.

Maybe because Steve was out and just a little self-conscious about it, he noticed when people said things like "That's gay" or used the words "faggot" or "homo."  And after repressing his instinct to call out bullies for so long, Steve found himself unable to let anything slide.

People in the "That's gay" camp didn't mind when Steve confronted them.  "I'm sorry," the person would generally say.  "It's one of those things I mean to stop saying but it's a terrible habit.  The other day I called something retarded in front of one of those SPED kids and I felt like an asshole." 

People who said the other things were a whole different story.

"Hey, faggot, stop starin' at my dick!" Brock Rumlow told someone in the locker room.

"I'd really appreciate it if you didn't use words like that," Steve said.

"What, are you captain of the Gay-Straight Alliance now?" Brock demanded.  "You're probably starin' at my dick too!"

"Trust me, I'm not," Steve said.  "I just find what you said offensive."

"Hey, I wasn't even talking to you.  It's nothing personal!"

Steve stared him down.  "It kinda _feels_ personal."

In that instance, Steve had Thor and Bruce at his back, as well as Teddy Altman, plus the kid Brock had been yelling at in the first place.  No one was going to back up Brock Rumlow against Steve Rogers and half the football team.  But when Brock couldn't go up against Steve, he turned to the next best thing: Bucky. 

"That asshole Brock Rumlow cornered me in the bathroom today," Bucky told Steve on the phone. 

Immediately Steve clenched his fist.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."  Bucky sounded tired.  "He was all, _Tell your boyfriend to stop staring at me in the locker room_ , and when I was just like, _Whatever_ , he was like, _What's a guy like Steve Rogers want with someone like you, huh?  Is he one of them freaks who like deformed people?_ "

"Bucky..."  Steve softened.

"So I was like, Yeah, he is.  He loves my arm stump.  You wanna touch it?"  Bucky laughed.  "And that freaked him out and he left me alone."

Even though Bucky’s stories made Steve’s heart swell with pride that his boyfriend could damn well take care of himself, it made him that much more eager to confront Brock Rumlow and every other homophobic asshat who hadn’t gotten the memo that this was 2016 and gay-bashing was not okay.

It also made his stomach twist a little.  The dance was hurtling toward him and all he wanted to do was duck.  Sometimes he could imagine it would all be just fine, he and Bucky would dance and no one would say a thing about it.  Other times he imagined Brock Rumlow making some rude comment and Steve beating the shit out of him and getting expelled.

Then came the day he saw Brock talking to Bucky at Bucky’s locker and everything about Bucky’s body language told Steve that Bucky was ready to explode, and he saw red – suddenly he had his fists in Brock’s shirt and had him shoved up against the lockers.

“You wanna kiss?” Brock sneered, because Steve was close enough to smell the toothpaste on his breath.

“Boys,” came the warning sound of a teacher’s voice, and though Steve pushed himself away, it wasn’t soon enough. 

They landed in Principal Coulson’s office, interrogated separately, then together.  Steve waited his turn, leg jumping, knowing Brock was going to claim that Steve had been bullying _him_.  But this was his first trip to Principal Coulson’s office for anything negative.  In middle school that would have been a different story, but Principal Coulson had only known the well-behaved Steve Rogers, and he listened while Steve told him how Brock had been bullying Bucky.

Then Steve and Brock ended up in Ms. May’s office, to have some kind of mediation session, in which Brock talked out his ass and Steve did his best not to get up and punch him.

In any case, both of them ended up with detention.  It was Steve’s first detention in high school, and he realized what would have happened if he had punched Brock: he would have been suspended for a week (or maybe even expelled), and he wouldn’t have been allowed to go to the dance. 

The detention was a bigger deal at the group home.  Steve lost all of his privileges for the rest of the week – only two days, but still.  That meant no TV, no computer unless he was doing schoolwork, and no phone calls.  “I was just waiting for his true colors to show,” said Darren smugly.

This was something the staff at the group home said a lot.  They said Steve was still in his “honeymoon” period even though he’d been there for almost three months now.  Sometimes Steve felt like Darren was trying to provoke him to show his “true colors.”

Hope rolled her eyes.  “Just don’t let it happen again, okay?  And so you’re aware, if you get suspended, you lose weekend visit privileges.”

All of this led to Steve lying awake in bed at night, imagining the worst. 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed the chapter count... only one more chapter and I'm sorry, this one ends on a little clinghanger...

"This is it," Bucky said as the school rolled into view.  "You ready?"

Steve nodded firmly. 

"You'll be fine," Mrs. Barnes said from the driver's seat.

"Yeah," Steve agreed.  He was holding Bucky's hand so tightly their palms were sweating.  "We'll be fine."

And everything was fine, up until they got to the table where they would hand over their tickets.  "You two look so cute!" said Bobbi Morse, a sophomore.  Then she handed each of them a slip of pink paper.  "Don't forget to vote for Winter King and Queen!"

Steve had completely forgotten about Winter King and Queen.  Distantly he recalled Sharon saying something about it, but that had been months ago.  The winter formal wasn't prom, but they still had a king and queen, which was pretty stupid, because the formal was open for all grades, and usually only seniors won. 

"Hey," said Bucky, nudging him.  "Your name's on here."

And of course, king and queen were voted as couples.  Stupid tradition.  Tony and Pepper had been nominated.  As had Steve and Sharon.

He and Sharon hadn't been an official couple for at least six months.  In the past couple of weeks, Steve guessed that everyone had found out that he was gay.  He'd thought they would have updated the ballot.

Bobbi noticed Steve's hesitation.  "It's okay to vote for yourself!"

"I don't know why I'm on here," Steve mumbled.  "With Sharon."

"It's fine," Bucky said.  He checked off the box next to Steve's name.  "I'm gonna vote for you anyway."

At that moment, Steve just wanted to hug Bucky and give him a huge kiss.  "I'm sure I won't win."

"Never say never."  Bucky smirked at him.  He reached over and checked off the same box on Steve's ballot.  "You have two votes, anyway."

"Let's go," said Steve.

His mouth settled into a grim line as they approached the gymnasium.  He'd never been nominated for winter king and queen, but he had been a member of the Homecoming Court every year.  Even this year.  Homecoming was always super early in the season, the beginning of October.  Even though he and Sharon hadn't been dating then, either, they had still been voted in.  Tony and Pepper had always won.  King and Queen danced together, and then the losers – called the Prince and Princesses – would join them.  The winter formals had an almost identical format.

"Bucky!"  Kate Bishop pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against.  Her short purple dress had a tight, strapless bodice and a poofy skirt.  Steve had to shake his head.  Kate was too cute for someone like Clint Barton.  "Have you seen Clint?"

"No, we just got here," Bucky said. 

"He said he was going to meet me here."  Kate smoothed down her skirt and checked her cell phone.

"You can come inside with us," Steve offered, knowing full well that Clint had texted both of his dates to say he was having car trouble and he would just meet them there. 

"Yeah," Bucky said.  "Clint's always late."

"I don't know," Kate said, then looked at her phone again.  "Oh!  Natasha said she just got here."  Bucky and Steve exchanged a look at the mention of Natasha.  "Don't worry guys, we'll catch up to you."

"Okay."  Bucky sounded nervous, but it wasn't until they were out of earshot that he said, "Do you think they know?"

"I honestly don't know how they couldn't.  Clint isn't exactly what I would call stealth," Steve said.

The pounding music grew louder as they rounded the corner.  The gym doors were propped open, and beside them was the photographer.  A lattice archway had been decorated with fake snow and icicles, and a light blue backdrop had a wintry scene.  Already there was a long line for photos. 

Earlier in the evening, Mrs. Barnes had posed the boys in front of the fireplace for photos.  She didn't know the real reason for their flushed, happy faces. 

Everything had been so different from any other dance he had attended.  Usually he had dressed himself, and then his mother might have tied his tie for him, or adjusted his lapel, and then he would be picked up by his friends.  Tony Stark loved to roll up in a limo, and everyone would pitch in a little money and then the limo would pick up each of the guys, and then the girls.  Each stop would take about twenty minutes while the girls' parents took photos, so he'd always had to get ready super early, and someone would have bought pizza or Chinese food and they would eat in the limo doing their best to avoid spilling food on themselves.  Most of the time there would be alcohol as well.

Tonight, though, he was already at Bucky's house when they decided it was time to get ready.  Naturally, once they'd shed their jeans and t-shirts, they spent a little time on the bed making out.  "Guess we'd better stop," Bucky said, his breath exhaling on Steve's neck.  "Or I'm gonna have a boner all night."

Steve had slid his hand down to cup Bucky's ass, squeezing through the cotton boxer shorts.  "Yeah?"

"Stop," Bucky laughed.  "I'm serious."

Then Steve had thought about it, and said, "I'm too nervous to get a boner."

"It's gonna be fine," Bucky said.  He kissed Steve.  All traces of his smile were gone when he pulled away.  "I'm nervous, too."

"You don't need to be nervous.  Everyone already knows you're gay," Steve said.

"I haven't been to a school dance since eighth grade," Bucky said bitterly.  Steve guessed he was thinking about Billy Cook, and how Billy had dumped him soon after that dance. 

They did get up and start getting dressed, talking about who else would be there with whom, and that was when Steve found out more about Clint's plans and Bucky found out that Bruce still didn't have a date.  When Bucky started buttoning his shirt, Steve stepped up to him and brushed his hand away. 

"I can do it," Bucky complained.  "It's, like, one of the first things they taught me in PT.  Buttoning my clothes and tying my shoes."

"I know," said Steve, catching Bucky's wrist as he tried to push Steve's hands away.  He gently pried Bucky's hand flat with his thumb, and brought his face down to kiss Bucky's palm.  "But wouldn't you rather have me do it for you?"

Strangely it felt more intimate to be dressing each other than taking off each other's clothes.  Bucky tried to look impassive as Steve finished doing up the shirt and then did Bucky's tie, and Steve took the opportunity to kiss those lips and feel them curling into a smile against his. 

"Turn around," Bucky said when Steve was done. 

Steve did, and Bucky's arm snaked around his waist.  Faster than he might have imagined, Bucky's fingers popped each button through its hole, up to the neck.  "My mom always does my tie, though," Bucky said when Steve turned around. 

He didn't know what to say about that, which meant more kissing, which meant later the two of them standing side by side in the bathroom mirror, trying to make sure their hair didn't look too much like they'd just been making out. 

"You shaved this morning," Bucky accused, reaching out to run a finger along Steve's jaw.

"So did you," Steve said.

It was just so damn hard to keep their hands off each other.

So, the fireplace and Mrs. Barnes taking photos with her iPhone that had a screen nearly the size of an iPad.  There was a hairy moment when she started to say, "You look so handsome, both of you.  If only..." And both Steve and Bucky knew she was thinking Bucky's dad and Steve's mom and then there was a group hug and splashing cold water on their faces before they left the house again.  Steve was almost grateful for the stupid drama of going to a school dance to distract him from the lump in his throat.

"You want to get a photo?" Bucky asked.  Steve had slowed down, nearly frozen, like a deer in the headlights.  He didn't recognize anyone in the line, but he was sure some of them recognized _him_.  Bucky's hand tightened around his.  "I'll pay."

"Maybe... later," Steve said, each word an effort.  "When the line's not so long."

***

"Sure," Bucky said, trying to sound chipper. 

He hadn't been able to tell Steve the real reason why he was nervous for the dance.  It was because he was nervous that Steve would back out of this grand plan to come out to the whole school by showing up here with him.

It was like a surreal nightmare to see Steve's name on the ballot alongside Sharon's for the stupid Winter King and Queen.  Wasn't Sharon on the fucking dance committee?  Why hadn't she taken herself off the ballot?  The only thing that stopped him from cursing out loud had been the expression on Steve's face.  He'd looked upset at the whole thing, so Bucky tried to cheer him up by acting like everything was fine and fucking dandy. 

Maybe he hadn't been to a school dance since eighth grade, but he knew how this king and queen shit went down: the happy crowned couple danced with each other in front of everyone in the whole school.

Bucky wasn't too interested in watching his boyfriend dancing with goddamned Sharon Carter.

Clint's whole situation wasn't helping matters, either.  It would have been nice if Bucky and Steve could have just hung out with Clint and Natasha, or Clint and Kate, instead of Bucky worrying that Natasha was going to somehow find out that Clint was two-timing her and unleash her fury, which almost certainly would involve Bruce Banner storming in and beating Clint to a pulp. 

The gym had giant snowflakes and a metric ton of white and blue crepe paper hanging from the ceiling, almost disguising the fact that it was a gym.  A low platform had been set up at one end, with a DJ spinning the most obnoxious songs currently on the radio and a lone microphone stand in the middle, awaiting the coronation.  Bucky tried to avoid looking at that. 

One bank of bleachers had been pulled out, but there weren't many people sitting down.  It was still early, and people were milling around and not really dancing just yet, taking selfies and hugging and shrieking excitedly about each other's dresses. 

"Want to get some food?" Bucky asked, because Steve's attention had slipped again.  He was scouting the room, looking for his friends, maybe, or making sure Brock Rumlow wasn't going to show up with a posse.  Bucky didn't know.  All he knew was that he didn't have any friends to look for, and he was feeling keenly insecure.

"I'm not real hungry," said Steve.

Neither was Bucky, not the way his stomach was flopping around.  At least he was still holding Steve's hand. 

"Hey, Steve," came a voice Bucky didn't recognize until he turned around.  Thor didn't sound quite so much like a meathead for some reason.  On his arm was a girl in several of Bucky's classes, Jane Foster.

"Hi, Jane," Bucky said.  "You look... wow.  You look really nice."

It wasn't that Jane wasn't pretty.  She just had the style of an absent-minded professor: a lot of mixed patterns and clashing colors and mismatched socks that were clearly not on purpose.  And Bucky had never seen her wear make up.

"Thanks," said Jane.

"You seen Tony?" Thor asked. 

"Not yet," said Steve.

"Bruce is gonna snap his neck," Thor said, throwing a sidelong glance at Jane.  "He wasn't too happy that Tony's promise to get him a date fell through."

Thor speaking in full, complete sentences... Bucky could only shake his head.

"Damn.  Is he taking it hard?"

"He's already mixing up his special punch."

Bucky had a feeling that meant Bruce had smuggled in a flask.

"Oh!  Here's Kate and Natasha," Bucky said.  As soon as the words escaped his mouth he wanted to smack himself in the face.  Bruce and Natasha being anywhere near each other wasn't going to make anything better.

But Kate and Natasha just ran into the gym holding hands and laughing.  They made a beeline for the dance floor and starting jumping around singing along.  "Turn down for what!"

Their enthusiasm caught on, and soon more and more people were dancing.  "Want to dance?" Bucky yelled over the music.

Steve looked at the crowd, then at Bucky, then shook his head.  Sharon had joined their group, and so had a few others, and Steve was talking to Sharon.  The music, however, meant that Bucky could barely hear what they were saying.

He couldn't stand to just stand around any longer.  He tugged his hand away from Steve.  The ease with which his fingers released made him realize that it had been him clinging to Steve and not the other way around, and he felt a cold stab of fear that this wasn't going to work.  "I'm going to go dance."

Once again, Steve looked out at the dance floor, then at Bucky, then said, "Okay."

When he walked off to join Natasha and Kate, he hoped Steve would follow him. 

He didn't.

Natasha and Kate cheered when they saw him.  He grinned and threw his one hand up, shoving down the sudden realization that the last time he had danced, he'd had both his arms.

***

Steve watched Bucky go.  He was fucking this whole thing up by staying here to talk to Sharon.  "I don't understand why we were still on the ballot!" he shouted over the music.

"It doesn't mean anything!" Sharon shouted back.  "The nominations were months ago!  You know it doesn't mean anything!  We were on Homecoming Court and we weren't dating!  It doesn't matter!"

But it did matter now.  "Can't you tell them not to count our votes?"

"Steve," Sharon said, and he could see her disappointment.  She loved being onstage.  Even though they never won, she liked being popular.  He had never liked it the same way, although it had always made him feel good to be up there, too. 

It was different, now.

"We're not going to win," she said.  "We're just going to stand up there, after they announce a winner we'll dance.  You could even dance with Bucky then, I don't care."

"But you don't want to take our names off the ballot," Steve said.

Sharon sighed.  "I didn't say that!  I'll go talk to the other girls.  I'm not supposed to be involved with the voting or the ballots because I'm nominated."

"This isn't the presidential primaries," Steve said sharply, then added, "Sorry.  That was mean."

"Don't worry," said Sharon.  "I'll go talk to them and see what I can do.  But... whatever happens... it's just a school dance, okay?  You came here with Bucky.  Go dance with him."  She nodded out at the dance floor.  It looked like Bucky was having a great time without him.  But then Bucky caught his eye across the huge room, and Steve knew he wasn't have as good a time as he was pretending to have. 

"Okay," said Steve.  He turned back to her.  "You look really great, by the way."  And she did, with her dress that looked like liquid silver and her hair falling in soft curls around her face.  But then, Sharon always looked good.

"Thanks.  Now go dance!"

Steve made his way through the gyrating bodies.  It was dark, and with all the people, Steve suddenly felt a little more invisible, which made him brave enough to grab Bucky by the hips and start grinding up on him.  Kate and Natasha whooped approvingly.  Soon Thor and Jane joined them, and Pepper and Tony, and even Bruce shuffled in for a few songs, staring longingly at Natasha the whole time.  Natasha, on the other hand, didn't look too concerned that her date hadn't shown up yet.  She and Kate kept grabbing hands and whirling around and laughing, and then a bunch of the girls ditched their dates to join in on a huge dance circle.

A euphoria settled over him, almost like he was drunk.  He'd never had this much fun at a dance, and he could easily forget about everything else.  Just him and Bucky and his friends.

***

He was sweating and breathless when his phone buzzed in his back pocket.  "That feels nice," Steve said in his ear.  Bucky laughed, and he made sure to grope around a little as he pulled his phone out.

"That's Clint, huh?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," said Bucky.

The text just said, _do u have eyes on nat?_

Bucky texted back, _We're all dancing_

_Kate too?_

_Yeah_

_great_

Bucky didn't know if that was meant sarcastically, but he decided it wasn't his mess to squirrel out of.  He put his phone back and turned to face Steve, wishing the DJ would play some slow songs.  At least Steve looked like he was having fun now. 

And then Clint elbowed his way through the crowd.  Bucky had to hand it to him; Clint showed up smiling and eased right in to dance beside both Kate and Natasha, both of whom seemed happy enough that he was there.  _Things are going to work out just fine_ , Bucky thought.   A dance circle broke out, and Tony moonwalked into the center and did some kind of robot dance, then tagged Thor, who did that fishing pole move toward Jane, who played along.  Then Sharon stepped in and did some of the cheerleaders' hip hop moves, which led to Pepper and Natasha joining in, and then Clint was doing some weird dance with his feet kicking out and he reached out as if to shake Bucky's hand, and that was how Bucky found himself in the middle of the dance circle.  He did the lamest dance move he could think of, the running man, and Steve running-manned into the circle with him.

As the flashing lights from above slowed and the music's tempo decreased, Steve stepped in close and pulled them together.  Bucky didn't care that the song was something by Taylor Swift.  The adrenaline from the dance circle had his heart beating fast, and the swirling colored lights turned Steve's face into a kaleidoscope, a beautiful swirl of colors.  They swayed together, and Bucky might have gotten lost in Steve's eyes if not for the drama unfolding over Steve's shoulder.

When the music slowed, Clint had turned toward his two dates.  Now was the time when Clint would finally have to come clean, to make a decision.

Instead, Natasha and Kate looked at each other, and Kate stepped into Natasha's arms, circling her hands around Nat's neck while Nat's hands rested on the black belt of Kate's purple dress.  Without another look at Clint, they started dancing.

Clint just stood there, dumbfounded. 

Finally he understood what had happened, and he turned to leave. 

"Sorry, man," Bucky said.

Clint shrugged and moped his way off the dance floor.

Dancing closer to Steve, Bucky could rest his chin on Steve's shoulder.  Steve was only an inch or two taller than he was, so it was the perfect height.  He liked feeling Steve's breath in his ear, and the light pressure of Steve's lips – not quite a kiss, just resting his lips there.  That smell of Steve's aftershave always turned him on these days, and here, his nose right in the crook of Steve's neck, meant he could close his eyes and focus on that smell, the smell of Steve.

All too soon, the music trailed to the end, and then the DJ's voice came over the loudspeaker, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to take a short break from dancing right now."

The crowd made the appropriate unhappy sounds, Steve and Bucky included as they reluctantly released each other.  It was only the first slow dance, after all.  The DJ continued.  "Come on, now, don't you want to find out who your Winter King and Queen are?"  The crowd cheered.

Bucky's stomach, which had started to uncoil, twisted again.

"I told Sharon to take us off the ballot," Steve said into Bucky's ear.

"Okay," said Bucky.  That was a relief.  He looked around for Clint and located him near the refreshment table, cramming brownies into his mouth. 

Principal Coulson got up then, and made some lame jokes before finally getting around to calling out the nominees.  Bucky was about to suggest to Steve that they go talk to Clint when he heard Principal Coulson announce, "Steven Rogers and Sharon Carter."


	40. Chapter 40

Steve didn't know what to do. 

He looked at Bucky.  "I told Sharon," he insisted.  Bucky had a look in his eyes he hadn't seen in a long time, not since those first few weeks of therapy. 

As hands slapped him on the back and shoulders, he saw Bucky shove it down.  "It's fine," Bucky said.

Steve knew it wasn't fine, not at all.

Somehow his legs moved him up to the stage.  Sharon smiled at everyone as she hooked her arm in his.  He wanted to jerk his arm away.  It wasn't until they had their backs to everyone that she whispered, "I'm sorry, Steve.  I tried."

"Sure."  The word came out curt.  But then, as they took their places onstage alongside Tony and Pepper and three senior couples, he looked out into the crowd, and he felt bad.  It wasn't Sharon's fault.  And they weren't going to win, so none of this really mattered. 

He tried to find Bucky in the mass of people.  So many people were here.  So many people looking up at him.  A smile came across his face like a weird reflex.  It felt like nothing had happened over the last few months.  He was the golden boy, standing up here with the golden girl.  Like he had never come out.

***

Bucky turned to go hang out with Clint.  He couldn't watch this.  He didn't want to watch this. 

Thor's big arms stopped him.  "Where are you going?" He asked.  "Don't you want to see your boyfriend crowned Winter King?"

Frowning, Bucky said, "Steve said seniors usually win these things."

"He will win," Thor said.

Yeah, Thor was Steve's best friend and all, but he seemed unusually confident, especially since Tony and Pepper were always Homecoming King and Queen.  If a junior couple was going to win, it was more likely to be them.  Bucky narrowed his eyes.  "Why do you think he'll win?"

"Everyone likes Steve," Thor said. 

"He's on Student Council and he's the quarterback and he's volunteered at the tutoring center," added Jane.  "All the underclassmen know Steve.  And everyone knows that his mom just died."  Then, with a little grin, she said, "Plus, all those senior girls up there are mega bitches."

Bucky had to laugh.

"And did I mention how Steve is a great guy?" Thor said, bumping Bucky with his shoulder.  "You should know."

Now Bucky had to blush.  How could he have doubted that Steve was a contender? 

So, even though he would rather find out if Clint was okay after his double rejection (Natasha and Kate were still holding hands as they watched), Bucky knew he had to be there for Steve... even if he wasn't actually up there with Steve.

***

Principal Coulson looked down at the slip of paper he had flamboyantly pulled from the envelope and smiled.  "Your Winter King and Queen are two of our brightest students," he announced.  "I see them often, working hard to help their fellow students and representing our school in the best way possible.  I know one of them has gone through a particularly difficult time this year--"

Steve sucked in a breath.  It couldn't be. 

“So, it is my great pleasure to… Can we get a drum roll, please?”

Slowly, far too slowly for Steve’s ramping anxiety, the DJ found a clip of a drumroll and played it.

“The winners are,” Principal Coulson announced, “Steven Rogers and Sharon Carter!”

Feeling like he was trapped in someone else’s body, Steve moved forward.  One of his classmates on student council lifted up a sash and he ducked to let her drape it over his shoulder, then dipped down again when a friend handed her a crown, too.  His face burned.  He felt ridiculous.  And everyone was cheering for him. 

Above the clapping, he could hear the loud rumble of his teammates, calling out “Rooooooogers!”  Some people were even whistling and whooping, and despite everything else he smiled.  Grinned, even.  These people had voted for him.  And Sharon, who had taken hold of his elbow again and smiled up at him.  “They told me we had won by a landslide,” Sharon whispered to him.  “Everyone voted for you.”

He felt the love of everyone in the gymnasium so sharply he had to blink.

In one short sentence from the principal, “And now our King and Queen will dance,” Steve went spiraling back down.

He actually started to move forward on autopilot, but before he could escort Sharon down the steps, he stopped short.

“What’s wrong?” Sharon whispered, as the strains of “The Time of My Life” started playing.

Steve looked at her.  He hoped she could see what he was thinking.  “I can’t do this,” he said.

She had known him for a long time, both as a girlfriend and as a friend, and she nodded.  “Do what you have to do,” she said.

He released her arm, and stepped over to the microphone.  “Hi everyone,” he said, and winced as the feedback squealed.  He pulled his mouth a little further away.  The DJ, suddenly quick on the draw, stopped the music with a sound effect of a record scratching.

Beside him, Principal Coulson said to the girl on student council, “I didn’t think they gave speeches?”

“They don’t,” she answered.

Steve continued before they could stop him.  “I would like to thank everyone who voted for us, we really appreciate it.  Uh, but, um, the truth is, Sharon and I are just friends and we'd rather dance with our dates.  So, um, if our dates could come forward?”

He hadn’t been able to find Bucky in the crowd during his whole time onstage, and now, as he descended the steps to the empty space in front of the stage, he still hadn’t found Bucky.

Then he had a horrible thought.  _What if Bucky doesn’t come up here?_

***

“Go get ‘im!” Thor said, and shoved Bucky forward. 

He still couldn’t believe Steve had said those words.  Everyone was still clapping, a little less enthusiastically than before, and once Steve and Sharon had stepped down from the stage, the DJ had put on that song from _Dirty Dancing_ again.  Bucky started trying to make his way forward.  It didn’t seem like anyone wanted to move.

“I’ll help,” said Bruce, and shoved a tall, gawky boy out of the way.

“Hey!”

In Bruce’s wake, Bucky made his way toward the stage. 

***

Bucky wasn’t coming.  Steve couldn’t barely breathe, and the only thing that was keeping him from the edge of panic was the fact that Sharon’s date wasn’t up here, either.  He looked over at her.  “Who’s your date?” Steve asked.

She blinked, and suddenly he saw how fake her smile was.  “I… don’t have a date,” she said.

He wanted to slap himself.  Of course she didn’t have a date.  In all these weeks, she had never mentioned having a date. 

“I thought Brock Rumlow was going to ask you,” Steve said dumbly.

“You really think I’d come to the dance with _Brock_?  He’s a jerk,” said Sharon.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_ , Steve thought.  Everyone was going to stop clapping soon.  It would trail off, and everyone would realize that Steve’s date had run off and Sharon didn’t even have a date and furthermore, Steve had planned to make her stand there by herself while he danced with his own date.  _Where was Bucky?_   Steve didn’t want to meet the eyes of anyone in the crowd now.  He tried to think of someone, anyone, who he could call upon to dance with Sharon, without making it look like she didn’t have a date.

And that was when Bruce stumbled into the open floor.

***

When Bucky stepped out from behind the hulking football player, he could see an expression on Steve’s face that had nothing to do with him.  Steve was looking at Bruce like the sun had just risen. 

Confused, Bucky glanced from Steve to Bruce and back to Steve.  Then he saw Sharon, just standing there, her chin lifted but her eyes shining.  And Bucky turned to Bruce and hissed, “Go dance with Sharon.”

“What?” Bruce said.

“Go.  Dance.  With.  Sharon.”

“Oh.”  Bruce looked up at Sharon.  He was swaying a little.  Fuck, he was totally drunk.  “ _Oh_.”  Well, Bruce _was_ an honors student – his inebriated state just made him a little slower on the uptake. 

Together, Bucky and Bruce walked across the yawning empty space.  Bucky had never felt more self-conscious.  Ever since the accident, he had felt like people were staring at him, and he had perfected the art of remaining invisible.  Now he was anything but invisible.  They were all going to see him, with the sleeve of his suit jacket pinned into his pocket so it didn’t flop around.  “Why don’t you just pin it up?” Steve had asked while Bucky’s mom did the pinning.  “You always do this thing, tucking it in the pocket.  Everyone knows you don’t have an arm.”

“This is the way I want to do it,” Bucky had said.  He wanted people at first glance to see _him_ , not his missing arm.  At this moment, however, he knew everyone saw it.

He looked up to meet Steve’s eyes.  Steve had relief written all over his face, and that horrible fake smile he’d been wearing while he was up on stage had broken into a relaxed grin.  Bucky couldn’t look at him without smiling himself. 

In that moment, it seemed a silence had settled over the gymnasium.  Before he had quite reached Steve, Steve stepped forward and took Bucky’s hand, lifted it, and put his other hand on Bucky’s hip.  “I didn’t think you were going to come up here,” Steve said.  On the last word his voice wobbled, even though he was still smiling.

“I’m here,” Bucky managed to say.  He didn’t want to turn into a crying mess.

Steve nodded, looking away, blinking.  Then he tilted his head forward, and Bucky tilted his head up, and he let Steve kiss him.  In front of the entire school.

Oddly enough, he heard the applause behind him get louder.  He heard a few deep whoops that sounded a lot like Thor, and a high-pitched whistle that was Clint's trademark.  Bucky and Steve looked at each other and laughed.  The music got louder and Bucky felt a slap on his shoulder from Tony as he and Pepper walked by to dance.

After that, the evening flew by.  Once they were out of the spotlight, Steve and Bucky slipped off the dance floor to hide under the bleachers.  At first Steve pulled out tissues and they each blew their noses, but then they ended up kissing a little bit until Steve decided they would get in trouble and he wanted to make sure Sharon was okay and Bucky remembered Clint.

“Thanks for stepping up, buddy,” Steve said, clapping Bruce on the back. 

Bruce wasn’t dancing with Sharon anymore, but he had stopped drinking and was standing around with their group of friends, including Sharon, who was laughing with Pepper.  “Oh, god, I thought I was just going to be standing up there—thank God for Bucky!”

Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand and he ducked his head and blushed.

As for Clint, they finally found him flirting with Bobbi Morse, the girl who had taken their tickets.  “Watch out for this one,” said Natasha, walking by with Kate in tow.  She was smiling, though, and Clint just laughed.

“So, are you guys a thing now?” Bucky asked her.

The two girls looked at each other.  “It is very strange,” said Natasha.  “We were always spending time with Clintbarton, all three, together.  And then we try to be friends, just two of us, and we find we like that.  So… perhaps.  But maybe just to cuddle and kiss sometimes and do target practice.”

After that, they went into the hallway to get their photos taken.  Bucky made a big show of waving money around and then, when no one was looking, he grabbed Steve’s ass.  “My sugar daddy,” Steve cooed, and crushed Bucky to him until Bucky complained that he couldn’t breathe, although that was probably from laughing too hard.

They stayed until the very last song, “Closing Time.”  Bucky rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and Steve rested his head on Bucky’s head as they swayed along to their own time.  “This was the best dance ever,” said Bucky, and laughed at himself.  “Not that I’ve been to many dances.”

“This was definitely the best dance,” Steve agreed.  “I… guess your mom will be picking us up?”

“Uh, sort of…” Bucky said.

Steve knew something was up.  “Sort of?”

The song ended, and everyone began drifting to the doors. 

“I, um... _I’m_ going to drive us home,” Bucky said.

“What?” Steve couldn’t believe it, even though over the past weeks he had noticed that Bucky hadn’t been having panic attacks in the car anymore.  “You got your license?”  He crushed Bucky to his chest in the midst of the crowd.

“No, no,” Bucky said quickly.  “I just… I’ve been practicing driving.  That’s all.  I still have to do all my driving hours and finish driver’s ed and stuff.”  He laughed into Steve’s suit jacket.  “It’s not that big a deal.”

“It is a big deal!” Steve said.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” said Bucky.  “And I also have to wear my prosthetic arm to drive, and I didn’t feel like doing that.  So I’m just driving us home.”  Bucky was smiling way too much for this to be the only surprise, so Steve waited.  “But then my mom is going to stay with one of her friends tonight so we can have some privacy.”

“Oh,” said Steve.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Did you get a few more tips from your magazines?”

“Nah.”  Bucky’s face turned bright red even though he tried to play it off.  He glanced around.  The gym had nearly emptied out.  When he spoke again, his voice was soft, and he leaned close to Steve’s ear.  “I grew a set and went to the store and… bought some lube,” Bucky said, then checked to see if anyone had overheard him. 

“Really,” Steve murmured.  He still had Bucky pulled close to him, and he used the opportunity to plant a kiss on Bucky’s temple.

“I mean, if you want to,” Bucky said quickly.  “If you’re ready—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because Steve was kissing him again, this time on the lips. 

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading this fic.... it's the longest thing I've ever written! Your comments definitely helped me keep going! Especially since the first half (or more) was so so angsty... I hope there was enough fluff at the end to make it worth it!
> 
> And.... at the behest of a few commenters below I have written a bonus scene, which you can find in the next chapter.


	41. Bonus Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a bonus scene of Steve and Bucky after the dance… 
> 
> [Unlike the rest of the fic, this scene is rated Mature/Explicit and NSFW]
> 
> **not a new chapter, this was previously posted on my Tumblr**

“Come on, let’s have sex already!” Bucky said.

Steve was on top of him, and he’d been fumbling around with the lube far longer than necessary.  First he’d examined the label and read the instructions out loud. 

Apply desired mount of lubricant to your intimate areas.  Reapply as needed.”

“Great.  My intimate areas await,” Bucky said.  He wriggled his hips, like Steve could have forgotten Bucky’s erection.  It was right underneath Steve’s hips and matching erection.  “Hey, look, we’re sword fighting,” Bucky said.

“May be applied to inside and outside of condom surface.  Compatible with latex condoms ONLY,” Steve read.

Bucky flailed out his arm and grabbed the box of condoms from the nightstand.  “Yup, just as I thought.  Latex.”  He tossed the box onto the floor, where it spilled square foil packets all over the rug.  Steve looked down, and shifted like he was going to go pick them up.

“Stop!” Bucky said.  He made to grab Steve’s arm, then stopped himself and grabbed a little lower.  “We can clean my room _later._ ”

Closing his eyes, Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth and made a soft groaning sound.

“Oh, so that got your attention?” Bucky laughed.  “Come _on_.  I don’t think I’ve ever had a hard on this long.”

Quickly, Bucky realized that Steve wasn’t going to be doing much of anything if he didn’t leave Steve’s dick alone, so he let go and snaked his hand around Steve’s neck to pull him down for a kiss or three.  “I want you inside me,” Bucky breathed against Steve’s mouth.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.  “I mean, how do you know?  Is there some kind of way that gay people decide if they’re gonna top or bottom?”  He buried his face into Bucky’s shoulder – his bad shoulder, and Bucky had a moment where he almost felt sick until Steve kissed the scars softly. 

“Steve, trust me.  I just know.  I said I want you inside me, what else do you need to know?”

“Okay.”  Steve rose back up and squirted some lube onto his fingers.  “Okay.”

Leaning back down, Steve parted his lips and met Bucky’s open mouth.  Their lips had locked and their tongues were exploring each other when Steve’s fingers started to slide down past Bucky’s balls and along the strangely sensitive taint and then Bucky had to whine in his throat a little because Steve had never touched him there before, and it felt so good.

Part of it was the lube.  He’d done his own exploring in the shower but it wasn’t the same as having someone else touch him.  Steve traced little circles around the opening, all the while kissing Bucky.  Then he dipped a finger inside and Bucky arched against him, gasping.  “Oh,” Bucky said. 

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Keep going.”

Steve did as he was told, working his finger in and out, moving it around.  It felt strange but good at the same time.  Bucky tried to spread his legs further, but Steve was straddling him, which according to the porn Bucky had watched wasn’t the correct position.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped.  “Steve, let me get my legs…”

For a few minutes there was a tangle of legs and a bit of confusion since Steve didn’t seem to want to take his finger out of Bucky’s asshole, and Bucky didn’t want Steve to take his finger out of Bucky’s asshole, but eventually things got sort and Bucky hooked his legs around Steve’s narrow waist and Steve said, “Yeah, this is better.”

“Put your dick in,” Bucky said.

“But I think I’m supposed to, like, finger you for a long time,” Steve said.  “Like, I have to be able to get a bunch of my fingers in there.  You’re really tight.”

“That’s gonna take forever!” Bucky complained.  “I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want to rip you open.”

“Steve, your dick’s a good size but it’s not _that_ big.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve said stubbornly.

“Fine, then do two fingers.  Come on.  You know I could come like this.”  Even though he and Steve had been sort of officially dating for three months now, and had been sharing a bed for about that long, they hadn’t been very experimental in bed.  Sometimes oral.  And a lot of times just jerking each other off.  It usually didn’t take very long.

Smiling, Steve lowered himself to kiss Bucky again.  “I know you can.”

Then he popped a second finger in, and started feeling around, and Bucky suddenly felt what it was like to have someone caressing his prostate, and he had to close his eyes and breathe heavy for a few minutes. 

“Okay, another finger.”

“Already?  Don’t you want to take it slow?”

“Steve…”  Bucky’s voice had a strangled quality to it, and it prompted Steve to do what Bucky said.

Bucky felt like he was on some other plane.  His erection throbbed, and it was killing him that Steve wasn’t touching it except when their dicks briefly rubbed together.  He supposed he could touch it himself, but he had his arm around Steve’s neck, and he didn’t want to let go.  He’d managed to grab hold of Steve’s hair – it was short, but longer than it used to be, and he wanted to be able to pull Steve’s face down to his when he needed to. 

“Steve!” Bucky said suddenly.

Stopping all movement, Steve asked, “What?  What’s wrong?”

“Steve, you have to…”  Bucky sucked in a few breaths.  “Steve, please, you have to just fuck me already.  Look, I’m about to… look!”

Steve’s head dipped down to look.  “Okay,” he said.  He sounded nervous as he eased his fingers out.  For long moments Bucky felt so empty.  “Okay.  Hang on.”

“Steve…” Bucky moaned.  He had to actively try not to come, even when he could feel a little bit already leaking out.  “Hunnggh, Steve, I love you so much, Steve,” Bucky heard himself saying.

The head of Steve’s dick pushed against him.  Steve was being too gentle.  “Wait, I don’t know if you’re ready…”

“I’m ready!” Bucky said, too loudly.  “Just push harder.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t!”

“Okay,” said Steve, and he pushed, and Bucky tried to relax himself and suddenly Steve was inside of him and all he could do was breathe.  Slowly, Steve pushed the rest of himself in, and stopped.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.  “Yeah.  Steve.  Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve reached one hand up to Bucky’s face and ran a thumb over Bucky’s cheek. 

“I meant it, before.  I love you.”

He hadn’t planned on saying that.  He and Steve hadn’t even talked about the big words like “love.”  Or even sex, really.  Maybe Steve wasn’t ready for this.  Maybe Bucky had pushed Steve too soon.

But Steve’s face softened, and he whispered, “I love you too, Buck.”

Granted, the actual sex didn’t last very long after that, but those words would last them much, much longer.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Waiting Room (Fanart)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214555) by [AyaroS92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AyaroS92/pseuds/AyaroS92)




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